#noa writes stuff

– February 5th, 178

It was a cold dark night in Notturna. It wasn't quiet, no, it rarely was at four A.M. in a vampiric neighborhood.

The police were called because of silence. Silence in a flat on the fourth floor of an unsanitary apartment complex, somewhere down on Cobweb street. There's nothing worrying about silence, usually.

Except when it follows gunshots and a cacophony of screams.

Detective officer Dale Atkinson arrived late on the scene, held back as he was by paperwork and phone calls and a decisively uncooperative coffee machine. His face was somber, his tenth cigarette of the day nearly burnt out, he could almost taste the ash. Working on murder cases would have been a chore for most police officers, but Dale needed the work. Especially today. Today marked the two-months anniversary of his wife Gretchen's death. He needed to think about anything else, even if that meant going to a notoriously disreputable neighborhood at four in the morning.

When he made it to the fourth floor, his subordinates had already laden the corridor with yellow tape and were waiting in front of the door. There were four of them under the harsh, pale electric light. Two officers, Dale himself, and a woman in a cardigan and slippers, face contorted with fear, rubbing her own arms to try and calm herself down. Probably the call maker. The officers were young, barely out of school, stiff in their uniforms. Juniors. Boys, not even men. As always, they were criminally understaffed.

“What are you two standing around for?”

“Well, we… we were waiting for you, detective,” junior officer Svarov stammered.

He didn't need to ask why. The smell coming from behind the door was unmistakable.

Someone had died in there.

Dale squashed the butt of his cigarette under his shoe before walking towards the woman in slippers. A vampire too. Middle aged. Older than him, probably. Doesn’t matter.

“Evening, ma’am. Ma'am…?”

“Schneider. Gisela Schneider.”

“Ma’am Schneider. I’m detective Atkinson. You’re the one who called, correct? Could you tell me about the people who live here?”

Lived would have probably been more accurate, but there was no need to needlessly frighten the poor woman further. She was already shaking.

“Well… It's… a little complicated, but… It’s the Hugihard. The parents, Athenais and Dieter, and two children.”

Dale produced a small notebook out of his jacket, popped a pen open with his teeth and started writing.

“Complicated how?”

“Well, you see…”

She lowered her voice.

“Their oldest is not Dieter's. Athenais, she had her first child out of wedlock. With a human, no less.”

She was not hiding her distaste for such behavior. In vampire society, being an unmarried mother was still frowned upon. Having a child with another species, less so, but it was no surprise that this area would be conservative.

“I see. So she married to save her honor, I assume?”

“Yes… Mister Dieter was kind enough to adopt the child, and they had another, a pure-blooded one this time, blessed be Night.”

Dale frowned. Pure-blooded. This was beyond conservative. They didn't use that term anymore outside of Serdnol, except in the high vampiric society, or…

“Do you know anything about the children? Name, age, behavior?”

“Morgan is sixteen, and little Lisbeth is eight.”

Morgan and Lisbeth. Dale scribbled down the names, jaw clenched. At least he’d be prepared to stumble upon smaller corpses upon opening that door.

“Morgan was… Well, you can't expect a bastard child to be anything but that,” Mrs Schneider said with disdain. “Always looking at everyone the wrong way, with those black eyes… And never smiling, either. Truly, Mr Dieter was too kind.”

That sounded like normal teenage behavior, but Dale knew better than to argue with witnesses.

“I see. And Lisbeth?”

Mrs Schneider’s expression completely changed, a fond smile spreading across her face.

“Oh, she’s everything you could dream of! Polite, so well-behaved, and a smile like an angel's… A little miracle. She's perfect. Of course, I don’t see her often unless they need me to watch over her.”

“Really? Why is that?”

“I mean, Morgan goes to the local school, but little Lisbeth… They can't risk sending her outside, you know? She needs to be kept just as she is for the miracle to happen.”

The pen on the paper stopped briefly. Dale tried to keep a straight face, but he didn't like what he was hearing, not at all.

There's something rotten here.

“I see,” he lied. “You called because you heard fighting, though, didn't you? Does that happen often?”

Mrs Schneider shifted uncomfortably, her gaze avoiding the detective’s.

“Oh, you know, sometimes… Usually, it’s just shouting, and you don't put your nose in other people's business… Except there was a gunshot this time, and I haven't heard much since, so I got worried.”

So this was commonplace.

Just keeps getting better, doesn't it.

“Thank you for your cooperation, ma'am. You did well to call us. Junior officer Svarov will keep you company while me and my young colleague investigate.”

Svarov breathed out a sigh of relief, but tensed up again when Dale’s hand grasped his shoulder. The detective leaned in to whisper,

“Get ready to take her into custody, just in case. There’s something weird about this.”

The junior officer nodded, his face serious. Dale's reputation in the precinct was that of a sharp man, they trusted him blindly. He walked up to the other junior, who was practically shaking in his boots.

“Farhat, with me. Don’t use force unless I tell you to. There might be children in there.”

Farhat’s hand got off the holster of his gun. He better get rid of that nervousness lest the trigger gets pulled too quick.

Dale didn't wait for him to compose himself and slowly pushed the door open.

The smell hit first. It was already sensible from outside, but now that there was no barrier between them and the flat, the stench of blood was like a slap in the face. Dale’s nose crinkled, saliva gathered in his mouth, he pulled up his collar to cover his face. This wasn’t the time to get distracted. He took a cautious step inside, looking around the apartment. It was small, badly lit, humidity stains and mold were visible on the walls and ceiling. The stale smell of cold tobacco clung to everything. Other than that, though, it was surprisingly well-kept and tidy, almost too much.

“District police. Anyone there?”

No response.

The only light came from the kitchen. That’s also where the smell was the strongest. As Dale got closer, he almost stumbled upon something in the doorway.

A corpse. A woman. Lying on her back. Platinum blonde hair sprawled on the floor, soaking in a pool of blood. Her face was forever distorted into a terrified expression, red eyes wide open on the ceiling. Her eyelid, neck and arms were patched with bruises. Not the kind you get from a bad fall.

“Too kind,” my ass.

Dale kneeled into the blood to look at the wounds. She’d been shot twice. Once in the chest, once in the abdomen.

Gretchen's smile flashed through his mind. Her hand on her belly. So happy that she finally managed to get pregnant.

Focus, Dale.

Given the color and smell of the blood, the death was recent. No longer than one hour or two ago. He got back up, looking away from the glassy red eyes and the blood.

Farhat, behind him, let out a small whimper in fear. Dale paid him no mind and stepped over the body to get inside the kitchen proper.

“Farhat, take notes. Athenais Hugihard, female vampire, about sixty. Cause of death, blood loss and organ failure from being shot twice.”

The forensics could make a proper report later, but he still had to assess the scene.

“Suicide unlikely,” he added like an afterthought.

The kitchen was a mess, to put it lightly. Blood splatters everywhere, overturned pots, broken glass, a rifle strewn about on the ground, and the star of the show, another corpse. A man, this time. He sat with his back laid against the cupboards, his head hanging limp against his chest. Dale leaned forward to get a closer look at him. Blonde hair cut short, red eyes, an unkempt beard, bloodshot sclera, inflamed skin. Likely an addict.

The interest of this corpse, however, lied in his wounds. His body was in an even worse condition than his wife's, to the point where his guts were nearly spilling across the boards. The wounds were a lot messier too. Several stab wounds to the abdomen, shallow cuts on the arms, and…

Dale blinked. He had apparently been stabbed in the throat, too, but the wounds looked… different. More numerous. Small, and round, like…

Had this guy died from getting stabbed in the throat with a fork? Given the absolutely indecent amount of blood on his clothes, it had probably touched an aorta. Impossible to regenerate. Dale couldn’t help but chuckle incredulously. Well-deserved. A stupid death for the stupid asshole that Dieter Hugihard seemed to be.

He immediately stopped laughing when he saw the man’s hand twitch.

Fuck.

Dieter was still alive. Probably not for long, given his state, but he still found the strength to gurgle something through his pierced airway.

“Wh… ores…. ‘Cking… whores…”

Blood spurted from his neck, his face twitched in pain and agony. His eyes were already far, far away. The rifle laid near. It would have been more merciful to put an end to his suffering, which is exactly why Dale didn’t. He shrugged and got back up. He’d just tell his superiors that it was already too late when he arrived.

“Farhat,” he called to his livid subordinate standing on the threshold, “Dieter Hugihard, male vampire, sixty-something. Cause of death–”

Another gurgling sound from Dieter interrupted him. It could barely qualify as words, but Dale still managed to make out a few.

“Get… hhhh… back… hhhhere… Lis… aaaa…”

Another disgusting sound cut him off, his body convulsed weakly, and his head fell back as all life left his body. Dale clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“... Cause of death, stabbed to the throat with a fork.”

Farhat blinked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Suicide unlikely.”

The detective looked over the room and lit up another cigarette, brow furrowed. It was pretty obvious that Dieter shot his wife. But in that case, who killed him?

Unless someone broke in, which seemed unlikely, there was only two possible murderers. The kids. And the last thing Dieter uttered… “Lisa”… A diminutive for Lisbeth, probably. The youngest.

Another thing was, the man was stabbed with a knife, then a fork. However, in the absolute mess that was this kitchen, there was no trace of a bloody knife or fork.

“Farhat, search this room in depth. We have a killer on the loose, either a teen or a kid. I’ll look around the rest of the place.”

The young man paled, but he seemed to like a well-lit but bloody kitchen more than clean but dark unexplored rooms. Dale left him to his devices and stepped out, taking a long drag out of his cigarette, exhaling in relief. The stench in there was making him dizzy. He then took out his flashlight. Seeing in the dark was not a problem for him, but better safe than sorry.

The living room was pretty unremarkable, save from a few shelves stacked with books and what looked to be a sort of small altar on the window. Dale turned his light towards the books.

All of them, religious texts. More or less official. Most of them about Night, some about the Angel with the Cross, and a lot that looked like illicit books, with no publishing house label. Syncretic stuff. He took one out to skim through the pages, stopped himself near the end. There was a whole bunch of nonsense about making a “pure-blooded, pure-hearted vessel” for “Night’s child to inhabit”.

Dale slammed the book shut in disgust. This wasn't syncretism. This was a fucking cult, and it probably didn't stop to this flat. Mrs Schneider's words made a lot more sense now. She knew. The whole remarriage thing too. That case was way bigger than a drunk man shooting his wife dead.

As he mulled it all over, he heard a scream followed by a ruckus coming from the kitchen. Dale rushed to the door, only to narrowly avoid collision with a whirl of white and red launching itself at full speed towards the adjacent corridor. He stood there dumbfounded for an instant, before turning his attention to his junior and yelling,

“You okay there, Farhat?!”

The young officer was standing in front of an open cupboard, holding his hand against his chest, seemingly more shocked than hurt. It was still bleeding.

“Yes, she just- I think she- she stabbed me,” he stuttered in an incredulous voice.

She. And the grazes on Farhat’s hand looked like three little holes. Holes that could only be made by…

“You’ll live. Stay here, I'll take care of it.”

Dale ran towards the direction he saw the little form disappear to, stumbling upon a cold hallway with three doors. It would have been hard to know where she went if she didn't leave small, bloody footprints towards the first one. He noticed a whole other bunch of bigger but just as bloody footprints leading to the same place. Almost too easy. He gently pushed down the bloody knob, and the door creaked open. A bedroom, almost bare, with two twin beds and a closet.

“... Lisbeth?”

No answer. But she wasn’t hiding either.

At first, all he saw was a shadow curled up against the far wall. A shadow dressed in a sleeveless dress that was probably of an immaculate white before it got half drenched in blood.

“Lisa?”

Two red eyes looked up at Dale in the middle of a face almost entirely hidden by a mane of golden hair.

The detective took a tentative step towards her, and she immediately raised what she was holding. A fork, still dripping with blood, clutched by tiny trembling hands. Her arms were thin, stained with purple and blue and red. Looking more closely, it looked like her lower lip was burst and bleeding. Dale slowly raised his hands as he knelt down onto the floor, a safe distance away from the girl.

“Hey there, kid. I’m Dale Atkinson. I’m a detective. I’m here to help. Okay? I'm not gonna hurt you.”

He wasn’t sure she could understand him, given how hard she was shaking, and the fact that she bared her fangs at him. But he was undeterred, and kept advancing towards her, on all fours.

“Are you alone? Where's your sibling?”

No reply. Maybe…

“Lisa, can you tell me where Morgan is?”

She startled, eyes wide.

“I-I can't tell.”

She had a tiny, delicate voice. All broken from… screaming? Crying, perhaps.

“You can't tell?”

“N-No. Morgan said… Morgan said not to tell.”

Dale just hummed. But he saw how the bigger footprints were going towards the window. Morgan was long gone and so was the knife. They probably didn’t jump, maybe climbed down. In any case, that was a suspect on the run. A suspect that wanted people to see them as guilty so their little sister wouldn't be.

And said little sister needed Dale’s full attention right now. He could always order a search for Morgan later.

“It's alright. You don’t have to.”

He scooted closer. Pointed at the bloody fork.

“You won't need this anymore. It’s okay.”

“B-But… Daddy’s gonna be m-mad at me. He's… He hurts mama when he’s mad. And now he's… He’s gonna hurt me.”

Dale slowly breathed in, trying to keep the boiling water under the lid. This little girl didn’t need his anger right now. He reached out, put his hand on hers.

“He's not gonna hurt you ever again, kid, I promise. Now, you should let go of–”

The fork clattered to the floor, and a second later, Lisa had freed herself from Dale’s grasp to lunge at him and sink her teeth into his shoulder. He grimaced, but those were baby teeth to him, she could barely reach his skin through his coat, it just stung a little. He took advantage of the position to wrap his arms around the girl, who hissed and bit harder into his shoulder. He didn’t let go.

“It’s okay. It's okay, Lisa. I know you're scared, but it's okay now. It’s over. No one’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

His hand combed gently through the tangled mess of her hair, the other held her close. He felt her trembling, her little fingers digging at this back. His shoulder was becoming slightly more painful, but he didn't really care. The only thing that mattered was the child.

“You're safe now, see? You're safe. I’ll keep you safe.”

He didn’t stop talking. Didn't stop his gentle gesture. It’s like something in him knew exactly what to do, what to say.

And slowly but surely, he felt Lisa’s jaw unclench, her shaking reduced to a slight tremor. There was an instant of complete, utter silence before a hiccup escaped her and she burst into tears, sobbed into his shoulder.

“Mama… M-Ma…M… Mamaaaa…”

He sighed, standing back up with her in his arms. Cradling her. Saying nothing at all. She was featherlight.

He couldn’t lie to her and say he was going to bring her Mama back.

Lisa's loud wailing eventually attracted a very alarmed Farhat to the room, but he relaxed when he saw that his superior was safe. Apparently, he had patched up his hand nicely enough in the meantime. Dale turned a hard gaze towards him, still cradling the little vampire.

“Officer Farhat, I have to ask something of you. You still have your notes, right?”

Farhat, sensing the gravity in his tone, immediately grew serious as well.

“Yes. Do you need me to correct them?”

A faint smile tugged at Dale's lips. Samir Farhat was a smart kid with his heart in the right place. He’d go far.

“Yes. Change the cause of death of Dieter Hugihard to stabbing. No mention of the fork. Just stabbing.”

The forensics probably would be able to determine that the fork wounds were fatal, not the knife ones, but that would at least stop them from immediately taking an eight year old girl into custody before they could plead self-defense. Farhat erased the words with the tip of his pencil, quiet as Lisa kept crying. He only needed to exchange one glance with Dale for them to know that they'd never speak of this to anyone else.

They both walked out of the apartment, Dale making sure Lisa’s face was hidden away from the macabre scene in the kitchen. Mrs Schneider and officer Svarov were still chatting in the hallway. The detective didn’t let any of them speak.

“Svarov, take Mrs Schneider into custody and call in reinforcements. We need to interrogate everyone on this floor, if not the whole building.”

“But detective, the commissar-”

“If the commissar is being difficult, tell him that we've probably dug up a cult to be dismantled. Now hurry the hell up!”

Svarov nodded hastily, and ignored Mrs Schneider's protestation as he took her away in handcuffs. Dale sighed.

“Farhat, you know how to drive?”

“Yes, sir.

“Good. Back to the precinct we go, then. But first, we need to use the radio to issue a search party for Morgan Hugihard…”

His voice faded when he realized that something wasn't quite right. It was too quiet here. Lisa, in his arms, wasn’t crying anymore.

“... Lisa?”

No response. He raised his palm to feel her cheek. Her skin felt cold and clammy under his fingers, her pulse abnormally fast, her breathing shallow. Dale’s face hardened.

“Farhat. Change of plans.”

“Sir?”

“I need you to drive to the hospital. Immediately. She’s going into shock.”

He didn't know how he managed to sound this calm when his chest suddenly felt so cold. His tone seemed to be enough of an incentive for Farhat to immediately pull him down the stairs and to the car. As soon as Dale got into the passenger seat, he took off his jacket and wrapped it around Lisa, holding her close. The engine started to roar, but all he did was whisper,

“Hold on, kid. Hold on just a little more, okay? We're getting you away from here.”

Lise, despite being half-conscious and shivering, snuggled against his chest. He held her tight, his hand stroking her hair, not really sure who he was trying to calm here.

“Someone really ought to get you a haircut after this,” he mumbled, trying his best to keep his tone light.

As he looked upon the tiny frame of the girl in his arms, Gretchen's face came to his mind again. Livid, sweaty, but still smiling as she squeezed his hand. And her words, soft, sincere even though she knew neither her nor their child would survive the night,

“I know you’ll be an amazing father, Dale.”

He wasn’t sure if he believed that.

They left last week.

It feels like it was a whole eternity ago, and all I've been doing since is writing. Writing, and talking with unhappy ministers that don't know they’re about to get fired, and making some public appearances to show off my renewed health.

I’m still tired, I still need to use my cane, but I can breathe, speak, eat without fearing I'll choke on my own tumors. Dragons below, I can hear and see from my left side again, I can sleep on said side, it's incredible.

They all said it was a miracle. A blessing.

That it meant that, surely, the gods had planned it all.

But I know it wasn't.

All I've been doing is writing and working and speaking and doing something because when I don’t, I just lay on my back staring at the ceiling with the darkness eating at my newly-cleaned guts.

I killed Kaizarz last week.

And now I have all the time he has not.

It isn’t fair.

It cannot be fair.

But it is what it is, anyway.

Was my freedom truly worth it?

“Your Majesty? You okay?”

Two huge dark eyes look at me curiously from the bed. My vision blurs back to the papers and the scrawls of ink covering them. My siblings haven’t allowed me back into my office, to force me to rest after the eventful week we had, but by the morning after the Jason’s departure I was already feeling antsy, so I started working directly in my room. I still can't write with my left hand, so it looks like a child made it. Like the child staring at me right now. I slowly rub my temple and smile at her.

“Yes, Nao, I'm fine. Thank you.”

Nao looks like a dark elf, but she’s probably a half-blood. She was orphaned in the Carcass when she was too young to remember it, and at age twelve, her face is already covered in the same tumorous growth as mine. Or… as mine used to be. I still can't quite grasp that this is my reflection in the mirror. I still have blue scars all over my left side, but they're just that. Scars.

And Nao still has all of hers. They all did, when I left. And I can't get them out of this crater, not yet.

But I can try to look for a cure.

That’s part of the reason I took Nao with me to the palace. I’m writing letters to all the best doctors to come see her, examine the disease. I don’t have the slightest idea if it’ll work, or even if she'll survive long enough to see a cure, but… I will. I know I will.

I… have time now.

The time you gave me, Kaizarz.

For the second time.

Faloi Frosilaen may have spared me, but you're the one who pushed me aside in the first place.

All this time I have was a gift from yours.

I’ll do my best to finally get you something in return. For when you return to this country. To me. So I can look you in the eyes and prove you were right to trust me, that I can try everything other than this stupid desperate ritual and succeed.

So no kid has to jump in front of his king and die with a smile on his face.

His name was Hien. I knew his parents, before they succumbed. He used to cling to me all the time, follow me around asking so many questions about the books I read and the world outside.

And now he's gone, and I can't bring him back either.

Yet another reason that I can't falter, or lay on my stolen laurels.

That’s what I'm thinking when the door to my quarters slams open. Nao yelps, I startle, and I hear a familiar voice scream,

“Arata Bayani Datu Rajah Iskandar !!”

Ah.

Full royal name, with honorifics and everything. That can only mean one thing.

I'm truly sorry, Kaizarz.

You gave me your life, all for it to be taken away by none other than my own sister.

Chesah stands in the doorway, dressed in her night clothes, and looking quite crossed with me, for a change.

“I knew you were still up working! What did we tell you?! Good evening, Nao,” she adds like an afterthought.

Nao simply nods, hiding in fear behind the bed as my sister stomps to my desk. As she arrives at my level, however, her expression changes. She slowly reaches out…

And pinches the skin of my forearm.

“Ow! What are you doing?!”

“It was a little harder to see under that veil and all these growths, but… You really are just skin and bones, huh.”

I say nothing. She's right, after all. I was never used to eating as much as anyone else did.

“Remember when you first started living here? You couldn’t tolerate spicy food. Upset your stomach. You’d throw up every day. For a good three months, you could only tolerate sweets.”

Her tone is strangely nostalgic, although I know this isn't a time she longs for. She didn’t like me much back then.

Her eyes, the same color as Dakila’s but so different from mine, stare inquisitively at me.

“You’ve been crying again.”

It’s not a question. It’s a remark, said almost softly, and I let her hand stroke my cheekbone, right under my swollen and reddened eye. I let her.

It’s not dangerous anymore.

“Is it that obvious? I put on make-up this morning…”

I’m not proud of it, especially since I'm not even the wronged party in this whole story, but I don't remember falling asleep without crying at all this week.

“You probably fooled everyone but me, honestly. I’m your big sister, I just know these things.”

“You haven't even been my sister for that long…”

“I haven’t known you for that long,” Chesah corrects me. “But I've been your sister since forever.”

The very idea used to make her grimace and seethe, and now… she just says that like it’s the most evident thing in the world. At least it manages to bring a smile onto my face. She rummages through her frock, pulls out a bag tied with a little ribbon and throws it at me. I barely catch it.

“What is-”

“It’s Nagasari. Your favorite. If you’re not going to sleep, at least make sure to eat properly.”

Nagasari. Steamed banana cake. The best food to ever exist. The first time I met Kaizarz, I think I must have told him about it in length, about how I'd let him have some if he came to Ananiikom, and..

… And I… completely forgot about it. Until now.

If Chesah noticed how my face changed, she doesn’t say it.

“Dakila should come by soon, I don't know what he’s doing… I just told him to go and get more food for- Oh, Nao. You want a Nagasari too?”

Nao, who sneaked up behind the desk, nods with stars in her eyes. I watch as Chesah gently gives it to her, recommending she chews slowly to avoid choking, and I wonder where that gentleness went, this past year. Did I extinguish it?

Or did she smother it herself, under the ashes of what she’d seen before?

“Hey, Chesah… How is your neck?”

Chesah grimaces a little, massages the muscles where Canopus knocked her out.

“Still a little sore, but eh. I’ll live.”

Ironic turn of phrase, considering what happened.

I’ll live.

Yes. Won't we all?

I remember their faces. All of them, as they decided to let me live. Not because they trusted me, but because they trusted you.

Will I ever live up to that trust?

I have to.

“Hmm. Canopus sure is stronger than he looks.”

“Ugh, don’t even tell me about-”

“Hey!”

Dakila emerges through the door, breathless, hair and clothes all messed up, holding up a tray full of food.

“Sorry I'm late, I was on my way to the kitchen, but then I thought I should stop by the harem just to tell everyone I haven't forgotten them and I got a little. Um. Distracted.”

Chesah and I exchange a Look. Then she sighs dramatically.

“Oh gods… It’s happening… My baby brother is finally spreading his wings…”

“Dakila, please, I'm not ready to be an uncle yet,” I add while stifling my laughter.

Dakila blushes to the tips of his ears.

“Not like that! Nothing happened! O-Or at least nothing big!”

“Uh-huh. Nothing big. Right,” Chesah snickers.

These kinds of pleasure are not her current preoccupation, and I was never allowed into the harem for anything other than simple conversation for sanitary reasons.

I… guess I am now, but I don’t really rejoice at the idea.

After all, the one person that wasn't afraid to hold my hand even when it was tumorous and purulent is dead now, and I killed him.

A laughter, almost childlike, yet his words are serious,

You're not disgusting at all!

“Dakila’s gonna make an heir~”

“Gods, maybe I should keep the food to myself-”

“Give it.”

The tray is put on the small table next to Chesah in no time.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Your Majesties,” Nao chimes in, “what’s a harem?”

Dakila starts stammering a vague answer, something that sounds like you’ll understand when you’re older, and Chesah turns to me.

“Well, now that we're all together, what’s the plan for tonight?”

I blink.

“Huh?”

“You didn't think we were going to let you work alone again?!” Dakila exclaims, almost offended. “Have you seen where that took you?!”

“But- You didn't let me work alone, you-”

“Yes, sure, we helped you, but you never actually worked with us! You wanted to sacrifice yourself, Arata!”

He’s… He's right.

I was afraid.

I didn't trust them.

I didn't trust anyone.

But now Chesah ruffles my hair. My hair who has started getting its original color back.

Platinum blonde, like theirs.

“We're siblings, right? And you’re our baby brother."

“I’m only your ‘baby brother’ by four and five minutes-”

“Still our baby brother! And we’re not letting you down. Not ever again. You have us now,” Dakila says, smiling softly at me.

I’m reminded of something.

Oli’s smile.

At least you seem like a good big brother.

I’m still not sure you were right, Oli.

But I can try.

“Well, then… Dakila, I’ll need you to help me out with a few letters from the Council of Masters, Chesah, I might have you look at these reports from the Volcano Council. Something about them has been bugging me since yesterday. After we’re done with those, we should discuss how we’re going to present the change regarding the contracts without stirring up the Councils.”

My siblings both nod and reach out to take the papers I give them, chatting idly as they do so, why is it always the damn Councils? Nao is happily munching on banana cake and leaving crumbs everywhere, Dakila and Chesah will probably start arguing with me about how unperceptive I am in a few minutes, but… But that’s what being a team is, isn’t it?

It’s knowing that no matter how much you disagree or bicker, you still...

Trust them.

I trust you.

I've always trusted you.

You have to come back.

Meili, Tyr, Domhildr, Oli, all of them have this in common that they trust you. And each other.

And as I look upon my own rag-tag team, I see how wrong I was.

I still have much, much to learn.

But I have a promise to keep as well.

Watch me, Kaizarz.

HYPERMNESIA – It's dark here. Cold. You pull on the doorknob but it’s stuck. You've been banging furiously on the door for what seems like hours. Screaming for help. For someone to come open the door. But your cries fall into deaf ears.

FACELESS MOB OF CHILDREN – “How about we leave you in there until lunch break, huh? To see if you get all dried up without your precious light!”

HYPERMNESIA – Those assholes. Fucking eke nukmar.

RHETORIC – Motherfuckers.

HYPERMNESIA – Locked you in a toilet first thing in the morning. Now mom and dad are going to think you ditched class and it stinks here! Come on! Open, you damn door!

LOCKED CABINET DOOR – It doesn't budge.

STOMACH – Hungry… So hungry…

THROAT – Water… Want… Water. Can't… scream anymore.

HYPERMNESIA – You're scared. There isn’t even the slightest ray of light. It’s like being in a beast’s maw, but colder. What if no one ever comes to get you? What if you die here?

COMPOSURE – Hey.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – …

COMPOSURE – Hey, you.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – … Huh ?

COMPOSURE – Yes, you. She's spiraling out of control. Do something.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – … What for? You never listen to me anyway.

COMPOSURE – Have you always been this meek?

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – It’s the darkness. She’s useless in the darkness.

HYPERMNESIA – You're useless in the darkness. But you can’t cry. Can't have them call you a crybaby. Can’t have them see dried tears on your corpse.

BLEEDING HEART – But someone came, right? Someone came for you.

HYPERMNESIA – … Yes. Someone did. Right before lunch.

LOCKED CABINET DOOR – Someone is rummaging with the lock outside. Muttering to themself.

FAMILIAR VOICE – “Chewing-gum. Typical.” Then, louder, “Taiven, are you there? I’m getting you out. Wait a moment.”

HYPERMNESIA – Toshiki. Toshiki found some solvent in the janitor's closet and removed that gum from the lock.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – But Toshiki isn’t here right now.

ASSERTION – Stop this right this instant. You're a grown woman, for Day's sake! You don’t need your friend to get you out of every fucking pickle you find your ass in, do you?!

THICKSKIN – It’s just a door. And a room. You’re not some stupid brat anymore.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Ugh, if only you could have a smoke right now.

NERVES – A-Agreed.

STREET SMARTS – Wait. Do you have cigs in your purse?

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Of course. You always have cigs. If most people are made of 75% water, you're made of 75% tobacco.

STREET SMARTS – Then you obviously brought a lighter along too. Use it. It's not gonna be much, but it’s better than nothing.

THE HUNT – No. There's something lurking in the shadows. Waiting to pounce. You’re gonna give your location away.

SMARTASS – You haven’t left the door since you were pushed in. If there's someone here, then they already know where you are. Use the goddamn lighter.

SOLLERTIA – You steady your shaky hands and pull out your lighter.

SENSES (HEARING) – Click.

A thin flame lights up in the pitch black darkness. It doesn't help much. Taiven can barely see her own feet, but at least she isn’t completely blind anymore.

FOCUS – The room is narrow but long. You can see the walls to your sides but not the one farthest from the door.

THE HUNT – Someone’s here. You can't see them but you know they see you.

ASSERTION – Don’t show fear.

THE HUNT – They can smell it.

“Anyone there?”

SENSES (HEARING) – No response.

FOCUS – That room has furniture, although you can’t make out anything but faint shadows. Your voice isn’t echoing like it would in an empty space.

THE HUNT – They're laying low. Analyzing you like you're some kind of caged animal.

ASSERTION – Fine. Let's try this again. Louder.

“Listen. I know you're here. Come on out so we can talk. I’m unarmed.”

RHETORIC – At least for now.

SENSES (HEARING) – Still nothing.

SMARTASS – But there are people here. You know it. You heard them talking.

STREET SMARTS – Maybe it was a trap. It’s not unlikely that Heinrich warned the others that you were snooping around, you know. Did you think him being a little into you would make him trustworthy?

SHADOWSELF – Well. I mean. It usually works.

SMARTASS – Maybe they were prepared and you were ambushed. But in that case, why lock you in here? And if someone's here, why not show themselves?

STREET SMARTS – They're testing you. How, you don’t know.

Taiven takes a slow step forward. Then another. Squinting with her lighter held out in front of her as she tries to make out her surroundings. The flickering flame barely casts any shadow on the nearby walls.

THE HUNT – The farther you get from the door, the more exposed your back is. Remember that.

THICKSKIN – Pft. And? You can take whatever’s coming at you.

ASSERTION – A little hide-and-seek won’t throw you off your game.

“Well? I’m waiting. Scared I'll rummage around and see what you're hiding? Or who?”

REFLEXES – DODGE!

Too late. Something lunges at Taiven, grabs her shoulders and digs their nails into her jacket.

NERVES – You grit your teeth as your back slams against the floor.

THICKSKIN – It's nothing. It’s fine. You're fine-

FEISTY FLESH – You grab their shoulder as well, you both roll around the floor, your feet bumping into boxes.

SENSES (HEARING) – A hiss.

THE HUNT – Something flashes in front of your eyes. Fangs. Pointy but not enough for a vampire’s.

SMARTASS – Mayumi. Shit.

STREET SMARTS – Of course. She’s the technician. Easiest access backstage.

FEISTY FLESH – Doesn't matter. You need to get her off you, now.

BLEEDING HEART – She’s basically a kid! You can't hurt her!

FEISTY FLESH – And how do you suggest we get her off you then?! By asking nicely?!

SENSES (SIGHT) – We can’t see shit in here, while her vision is actually better in the dark! This isn’t good-

REFLEXES – Careful, she’s on top again!

FEISTY FLESH – Screw this. You push your palm against her chin, before pulling your legs out from under her just like you were taught and just like you taught yourself, before giving a big nice push with both feet on her chest.

Mayumi falls back with a little cry of surprise and pain.

NERVES – Leather boots against her plexus. Must hurt a lot.

BLEEDING HEART – Can't we just talk it out?

THICKSKIN – How?! You barely have the time to breathe!

FEISTY FLESH – Remember what you did when you got out of that fucking toilet cabin? Think you just talked to Toshiki? Think you talked to your teacher like a little goody-two-shoes? No. No, you didn't do that. You know what you did?

HYPERMNESIA – The sounds of bones cracking under your fists. The cries of pain. Look who’s begging now.

FEISTY FLESH – That's right. You beat the fuck out of them. Get. Back. Up.

Taiven gets up, takes off her glasses, puts them in her bag.

SENSES (SIGHT) – Doesn't make much of a difference, but at least you won’t break them.

THE HUNT – She’s gonna lunge at you again!

REFLEXES – On your left!

AIM/READY/FIRE – Parry and-

THICKSKIN – You're sent flying into something as you're kicked right in the abdomen.

BLEEDING HEART – Fair enough.

SENSES (HEARING) – A loud metallic crash, weirdly muffled.

NERVES - OW.

ASSERTION – She clearly doesn't have the same qualms as you.

THICKSKIN – You’ll probably sport a bruise or two, but overall, you're surprisingly okay. Seems you landed on… clothes? A clothing rack?

STREET SMARTS – Clothing? That's it! Take one!

THE HUNT – Quick, she’s getting closer again!

Taiven grabs the first thing she finds, then scrambles to her feet. The cloth is quite big and heavy, most likely some kind of coat.

SCATTERBRAIN – Fluffy…

SHADOWSELF – Fur coat. Classy.

STREET SMARTS – Okay. Now wait for her to get closer.

SENSES (HEARING) – A step.

STREET SMARTS – Closer.

SENSES (HEARING) – Another step.

STREET SMARTS – Just a tad more…

SENSES (HEARING) – She stops.

THE HUNT – Right in front of you.

REFLEXES – NOW!

AIM/READY/FIRE – You throw the coat right in her face, like a huge sheet, making sure that it covers her entirely.

SENSES (HEARING) – You hear a scream, then a hiss, then the loud thump of someone falling to the floor while thrashing furiously against the fluffy fabric.

SCATTERBRAIN – Awwww. Kitty!

THE HUNT – Very furious and dangerous kitty.

THICKSKIN – You start to regain a somewhat normal breathing.

“Okay, Mayumi. What the fuck was that for-”

Something zooms past Taiven's ear, missing its target and finishing its course against the nearest wall.

THE HUNT – There’s more of them.

AIM/READY/FIRE – Whatever attacked you, it’s not a vampire. Or if they're one, they can't aim their fist in the dark for shit.

Taiven dodges another attack, running away to the other side of the room, while Mayumi is still trying to get out of the accursed fur coat.

AIM/READY/FIRE – Careful, you almost tripped on her!

THE HUNT – And there's more of them around. You can feel them.

STREET SMARTS – Okay. I have an idea. You have glitter spray in your bag, don’t you?

SOLLERTIA – Sure do!

STREET SMARTS – And you still got your lighter, right?

SOLLERTIA – Yep! Kept it in your hand even as you fell. Why?

SMARTASS – Oh. Ohhhhhhh. Pressurized air.

STREET SMARTS – Bingo.

SHADOWSELF – This is gonna be ridiculous, isn't it.

THE HUNT – Who cares? It might save your life.

Taiven steps back, reaches into her purse, then brandishes the lighter in her right hand and the glitter spray in the left.

“Touch me again and I'll burn this whole place up!”

Everything stops.

THE HUNT – Uncomfortable shuffling on the other side of the room. You don’t hear Mayumi anymore.

SCATTERBRAIN – You’ve always wanted to do that.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Set stuff on fire?

SCATTERBRAIN – Arson is bad but it sounds kinda cool.

RHETORIC – You’re not actually setting anything on fire. It’s just an empty threat.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – Ian is gonna be so mad when he finds out.

THEATRICS – Let’s make sure he doesn't, then.

Taiven’s breathing slowly steadies as she squints into the darkness.

“Alright. Are you ready for an adult conversation now-”

SENSES (HEARING) – Bzzzt.

THE HUNT – Don’t move. Don’t move. Absolutely do not move.

AIM/READY/FIRE – Taser.

THICKSKIN – You probably won’t die if it hits you, but you wouldn't be fine either.

ASSERTION – Hah. At least they’re not underestimating you.

Taiven keeps her hands up, clutched around her spray bottle and lighter. Silence stretches on, until the taser-holder decides they had enough.

“Alright. Now that we’ve all calmed down, would you be so kind as to state your business?”

SENSES (HEARING) – A calm, deep yet airy voice.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – It seeps through your pores, through your head. Whoever it belongs to, it sounds like a shiver, like déjà-vu, like something that isn’t quite there.

RHETORIC – There's no hostility. No threat. Just cautiousness and a smile.

THE HUNT – The real threat is the taser at your throat and they know it.

RHETORIC – Answer with confidence. Straight to the point.

ASSERTION – Hold your ground. You won’t be shaken that easy.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – Remember what – who – you're here for.

“I’m here to talk to Charles and Magali Delestre.”

SMARTASS – They’re here. You’re sure of it.

THEATRICS – There’s been signs. Heinrich and Julieta’s reactions. The facility with which Heinrich let you access the backstage. The fact that you got locked in and attacked.

THE HUNT – They want to know whether or not you're a potential threat. Charles and Magali are not just here, they’re being protected.

NERVES – The hair on the back of your neck stands on end as the taser gets closer to your skin.

“Really? What for? They’re very busy, you see. We cannot have them waste their time. Who sent you?”

ASSERTION – That guy's strong and they know it. They have that kind of lazy confidence you’ve only seen in one type of people.

SMARTASS – Tsk. Mages.

RHETORIC – Don’t get distracted. They basically confirmed that the Delestre are here. Just answer the question. And don’t get cheeky.

“Janelle Venegas.”

PARTI DU PEUPLE – She knew what she was doing, giving you that paper. There shouldn’t be any danger in revealing she gave you the info, on the contrary.

SENSES (HEARING) – There’s a small gasp coming from the darkness in front of you.

“You know Janelle?”

HYPERMNESIA – That voice… You've heard it. It’s the drag show host. El Penne Izzy.

SCATTERBRAIN – Right! The penis!

FOCUS – I can’t believe I have to say this, but now’s not the time for thinking about penises.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – It’s always the time to think about penises.

NERVES – Not with a taser at your throat?!

“I’m the one asking the questions here, Penny,” the voice behind Taiven says calmly.

SMARTASS – So the real name’s Penny. Good to know.

SCATTERBRAIN – It still sounds like penis.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – She's Janelle's main contact here.

“So, Janelle Venegas. And what did she send you here for?”

ASSERTION – Penny got completely quiet. I think even Mayumi has completely stopped thrashing around. Taser person is definitely in charge around here.

SMARTASS – They don’t sound like Gordianus Gens Laurentia. And unless he’s on a stepstool, they're much taller. So, not the owner.

RHETORIC – Now or never.

“I’m here to help out someone. Tristan Hawthorne. Sounds familiar?”

Silence. The person behind Taiven seems to be waiting for something. She tries to keep her breathing steady, to not show her nervousness. Worse case scenario, she gets tased. And best case scenario…

“... Snowfeather. Let ‘er go.”

The voice doesn’t belong to Mayumi, Penny, or the one named Snowfeather. That voice is deeper, hoarse, tired, belonging to someone older than Taiven.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Heeey, a fellow chainsmoker!

RHETORIC – Their accent is a mix of countryside rosarian and Vertdegris neighborhood. You used to hear a lot of them when you were a kid.

HYPERMNESIA – Aunt Camille came from the Vertdegris neighborhood.

CITY GIRL – The Vertdegris neighborhood, affectionately nicknamed Quartier Vert by its residents, stands far from here, on the northwest of the city. It’s all tall apartment complexes and trees.

HYPERMNESIA – Your aunt loves taking the family out to the park when you come to visit. Everyone knows her, everyone wants to chat with the “pharmacy Mam'zelle” who left the Quartier to pursue her dreams elsewhere. Most of the residents are demons or descendants of demons. You didn't think skins could have so many colors. Your aunt and uncle gently shoo you and Estelle away to the monkey bars. You don’t hear what the adults are talking about. The only hint you have that something is wrong is the way their smiles are faded when you come back.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – Enough. Aunt Camille is gone.

CITY GIRL – On the third floor of a ten-story complex, two brothers are looking out their window. The façade has been repainted recently. Trees have been replanted in the park. It’s not enough to hide the mutilated shape of the other buildings. At least there were few casualties during the bombings, since most of their inhabitants had already been deported or starved to death. Humans and demons alike are helping each other rebuild. The help mostly comes from the local Cliques, since the government would rather pretend that this neighborhood never existed. The monkey bars are the only thing still intact in the park. An old lady with bright orange skin and small horns sits on the bench, eyes far away. It’s been ten years. It will take many more for the Quartier to live again. For now, although the walls let the wind in and the grass doesn't grow, it’s somewhere to be. And they'll never be kicked out again.

SENSES (SIGHT) – White, bright neon light suddenly floods your vision, and the room. It takes some time for your eyes to get adjusted.

THE HUNT – No more electrical buzzing near your neck.

SUN-POWERED POWERPLANT – Light. Thank the gods.

SOLLERTIA – You cautiously put away your spray and lighter, and put your glasses back on.

The room comes into focus. There’s a lot of clothing racks with various costumes, the one Taiven got thrown into lays pitifully on the ground. Next to it, a brown haired human woman in her mid-thirties, probably Penny, is helping a very confused Mayumi gets the big fur coat off of her.

BLEEDING HEART – She gives you an apologetic glance. She was just trying to protect what she loves.

NERVES – Yeah, and you can still feel your ribs hurting.

FEISTY FLESH – You're pathetic. That's a sixteen year-old, you should have been able to knock her out in a second.

COMPOSURE – There's no pride in knocking out a sixteen year-old.

STREET SMARTS – And just because you could, doesn’t mean you should have.

BLEEDING HEART – Just let it go, okay?

Snowfeather circles around to look at her. They’re incredibly tall, with long, flowy platinum hair, grey eyes and a long, glittery white dress. A slight smile raises their lips.

COMPOSURE – It’s their default expression.

THICKSKIN – That's all? Really? Some lanky fucker in a dress? You could have just taken them out.

THE HUNT – No. They’re powerful. You can't tell how but… whatever power they’re hiding, you don’t want to fuck around and find out what it is.

HYPERMNESIA – Don't they look… familiar somehow?

“Apologies for the uncourteous welcome, miss. We couldn't take any risks, you see.”

ASSERTION – Yeah, like that excuses putting a goddamn taser to your neck?!

RHETORIC – You did threaten to burn the place down.

“You can call me Snowfeather as the others do. I’m this bar’s costumer… Among other things.”

RHETORIC – Yeah, you don't know many costumers that walk around with a taser.

SMARTASS – You don’t know many costumers at all, to be fair.

SCATTERBRAIN – Snowfeather’s such a pretty name!

SHADOWSELF – A pseudonym, no doubt. Do not give them your full name.

“Taiven. Pleased to meet you.”

COMPOSURE – You’re having a hard time sounding pleased at all, but they don’t seem to take it personally.

“Likewise. Take a seat, will you?”

They gesture towards a chair, situated at the far end of the room. Said part of the room is littered with mannequins, a lot of them wearing half-finished clothes, other being used as support for various sewing instruments. Square mirrors are lined on the wall, above a few tablets covered in cosmetics. And sitting in front of those tablets, two people, a man and a woman. The man is wearing a dress, the woman a suit.

HYPERMNESIA – You recognize those costumes. Charlotte and Coquincinelle.

SMARTASS – I won't say I was right. But also. I was right.

They share the same short red hair, the same pair of brown eyes, the same tan skin.

BLEEDING HEART – The same tired look. They’re looking you up and down, warily.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – There they are. Charles and Magali Delestre.

NERVES – Finally.

SENSES (SIGHT) – They look extremely similar. Same haircut, same head shape. Magali is shorter and you can see a beard shadow on Charles’ face, but that's about it.

Magali stares at Taiven for a while before shooting Snowfeather a look. The costumer nods back and turns to Mayumi and Penny, who are still waiting at the same spot.

“Girls, you’re free to leave. No need to guard the door. Oh, and Penny? Please be a dear and check up on Heinrich. If Gordianus finds him convulsing at the bar again, I'll never hear the end of it.”

SHADOWSELF – Let the fucking cunt choke on his own tongue and die for all I care.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Honey, why so angry? You’re the one who started hitting on him to get what you wanted. And look, it worked.

SHADOWSELF – Whatever.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – You know I'm right.

Penny and Mayumi make their exit, even if Mayumi seems a little reluctant. She glances at Taiven again before the door closes. Taiven doesn’t glance back and turns to Snowfeather instead.

“I assume you’re not leaving?”

The costumer grins.

“For everybody's safety, I'd rather not. But don’t mind me.”

RHETORIC – Figures.

SCATTERBRAIN – Kinda hard to “not mind” them…

“Yeah. Right. Enough chattin’.”

That was Magali speaking. Taiven straightens her back.

NERVES – That plastic chair is so uncomfortable and Magali’s stare isn’t helping you feel any more at ease.

“Well? You just gonna stare and gawk at us or you gonna start askin’ questions?” she continues, brow furrowed.

RHETORIC – She may sound harsh but she’s actually being relatively polite. She’s lending an ear because you said you'd help Tristan.

BLEEDING HEART – He’s important to her… no, to the both of them.

“Yes. Right. Thank you for humoring me.”

COMPOSURE – She makes an impatient gesture. Her brother just stares at you.

RHETORIC – Spare them the pleasantries.

“I’m a comrade of Tristan’s at the People's Party and I've noticed… things that worry me. I don’t know how close you are, or how well you know him, but are you familiar with his wife?”

COMPOSURE – Teeth immediately clench. Charles drums his fingers on his thigh and Magali’s face twists in disgust.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – The “we hate Charity Hawthorne” club is just getting bigger and bigger.

FEISTY FLESH – As it should.

“Oh yeah. We’re real familiar with the missus. Why?”

BLEEDING HEART – This… is different from the other people that told you about Charity. This is pure, personal hatred.

“Because I believe that she’s abusing him. At the very least physically. And he seemed to be needing help, so I took matters into my own hands and my investigation led me here. To the both of you. I can't ask him to file a complaint without proper testimony to back it up, especially since he’s a non-mage. The last thing I want is to put him into more danger.”

Charles and Magali listen quietly. Exchange a look once Taiven's done.

THEATRICS – They don’t seem shocked or surprised in the least by what you just told them.

SMARTASS – So they knew?

“Why’re you doing this?”

Taiven blinks. Charles finally spoke up. She recognizes the voice that ordered Snowfeather to let her go.

“What do you mean?”

The older man scoffs.

“Why would you wanna help him? Don’t seem too worse off yourself. You’re just lookin’ for trouble, roaming bars out there.”

“Because I care.”

THEATRICS – You couldn’t be more serious.

“I’m a non-mage too and I'm sick of people treating us like we’re disposable. If I can help Tristan, then I will. But I can't do that on my own. And I can tell that you already know what's happening. Probably better than I do. You know the facts, I know the procedures. We could get him out of here.”

SMARTASS – That administrative law degree isn’t just for show.

SHADOWSELF – They still don’t seem fully convinced, though. You need to pull at their heartstrings and you need to be subtle about it.

“... Tristan is really important to you, isn’t he?”

The siblings turn their gaze back to Taiven. Then Charles speaks up again, with a tired smile.

“You bet he is. Known that kid since he was born.”

COMPOSURE – Magali shoots him a look of warning. He looks at her and shrugs.

“What? She wants to help, Maggie.”

“Yeah, right. Who’s to say she ain't a snitch?”

“I ain’t no fucking snitch.”

REFLEXES – That came out on instinct.

SHADOWSELF – Ugh. Really? After all the work your teachers and parents put into making you lose that kind of language?

HYPERMNESIA – “They already think we’re savages, you want to prove them right? Is that what you want?”

STREET SMARTS – Oh, get that stick out of your ass. This isn’t the Party and you’re not eight anymore. You gotta meet people where they're at.

RHETORIC – And if reverting back to that accent makes you sound less like a pompous bitch, then we’re doing it.

THEATRICS – And your family didn’t even talk like that. You just liked to imitate the big kids in the neighborhood, was that so wrong?

COMPOSURE – Charles smirks.

BLEEDING HEART – He likes people who don't forget where they’re from.

“You heard the little lady, Maggie. Ain’t no damn snitch around here.”

Magali looks at her brother. Then at Taiven. Then sighs.

“Fine. But don’t blame me if it comes back to bite you in the arse.”

Taiven and Charles exchange a smile.

SHADOWSELF – Good. Keep him talking.

“You said you knew him since birth?”

“Yeah. Him and his folks. We were technically his ma’s foster siblings but we were more like domestics really.”

BLEEDING HEART– There is no bitterness in his voice whatsoever. More of a “oh well, what can you do”.

“T’wasn’t easy when she got married. We followed her, like part of a trousseau. Started having kids at nineteen, we were barely twelve. And she had seven of ‘em.”

SHADOWSELF – So many kids, and for what? Must have had money to waste.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Hey now, some people just like to fuck. And what do we do when people like to fuck? We listen and we don’t judge.

“Was Tristan’s family rich?”

“Eh. Bougie rich, maybe, but they weren’t no aristocrats. In the mage society, they were almost considered poor.”

RHETORIC – In the what now?

“Tristan comes from a family of mages?”

Magali snickers.

“That he does. But I guess something went wrong during the process or somethin’, ‘cause of the seven kids, only the oldest three were mages. The others could do some minor stuff and that was it.”

SMARTASS – Did something go “wrong” or did they start getting short on money after the training of the first three? Who knows!

“Tristan was the shy kinda boy,” Charles continues, “but I'll be damned if I didn't say he had the biggest heart I know. We took care of him a bunch since mister Angus and miss Tierney were just five an’ three and miss Eithne was still breastfeedin’ young miss Faye.”

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – A shadow passes over his eyes at the mention of that last name.

SMARTASS – So with one older brother and two older sisters, Tristan is the fourth kid out of seven.

SHADOWSELF – A non-mage in a mage family, and the middle child? Someone probably didn’t get much attention.

Magali shakes her head, arms still crossed protectively over her chest.

“He was such a sweet kid. Spent his time readin' and watchin’ stars past his bedtime. Said he'd be an astronomist one day. He wasn't good at magic but he was good at school.”

PARTI DU PEUPLE – Today, Tristan Hawthorne went to the People's Party district quarters and looked around for you. Dlawenn told him you weren't there. So he limped to his seat, grimaced as he sat down. His ankle is so swollen it could barely fit in his shoe this morning.

BLEEDING HEART – This wasn’t the life he wanted.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – This wasn't the life you wanted, either. But it’s the one you worked so hard to achieve.

“I’m guessing something happened?”

Magali sighs deeply. For a brief moment, she looks way older than she is.

“Same thing that happened to all of Encre, miss Taiven. La putain de Guerre.”

RHETORIC – The fucking War.

“Mister Diarmuid, Tristan's father, died on the battlefield. Then we lost the young mister Ruairí and young miss Brianna. And young miss Faye was shot on liberation day. None of 'em were even adults yet.”

BLEEDING HEART – So that's what the shadow was.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – Poor young mister Ruairí. Poor young miss Brianna. Poor, poor young miss Faye. Just children.

“So then it was only miss Eithne and her four remaining kids. Two mages and two non-mages. They got mister Tristan married to the Hawthorne spawn, and young miss Cliodhna… Well… Poor thing was kicked out and died almost two years ago.”

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – Poor, poor miss Cliodhna.

HYPERMNESIA – Wait. Cliodhna… Cliodhna… Were have you seen this name before…

RHETORIC – “The Hawthorne spawn”? Wow, so they hate hate her.

“If I may ask… How did they secure a marriage deal with the Hawthorne family? A marriage between a prestigious family of mages and a non-mage of a decimated one…”

Charles and Magali both laugh bitterly.

AIM/READY/FIRE – Almost in sync.

“Because the Charity gal’s crazy, that's why,” Magali almost spits out.

“More like she needed a non-mage to test out her stupid theories… An’ it needed to be someone with a good name but whose family wouldn't care much about. The Ó Séaghdha were just that.”

HYPERMNESIA – Ó Séaghdha? Wait. So. Cliodhna Ó Séaghdha?

SMARTASS – … No fucking way.

HYPERMNESIA – You remember. One name hidden in the dozens of adoption files you skimmed through in 194 with Ian.

Up for Adoption

Establishment: Schuyler Care Home for Children under three

Child information

Full name: Ó Séaghdha, Ujin Leigh Brianna

Date of birth: May 5th, 192

Place of Birth: Encre

Species: Half-human, half-gaikamshigthai

Sex: F

Siblings: None

Biological Father

Full name: Ochirbat, Tarkhan

Date of birth: June 11th, 167

Place of birth : Gaikamshigthai Steppes

Species: Gaikamshigthai

Profession: War veteran

Status: Unknown

Relatives: Unknown. Information given by the military.

Biological Mother

Full name: Ó Séaghdha, Cliodhna Eve

Date of birth: January 3rd, 176

Place of birth: Encre

Species: Human

Profession: Undetermined

Status: Deceased

If deceased, specify date: June 3rd, 194

Living relatives: Mother, older brother 1, older sister, older brother 2. All other relatives deceased.

Details:

Mother found dead in her flat. Confirmed overdose on alcohol and Tyalfen. Suicide likely. Child sleeping in room next door with traces of physical abuse and malnourishment, as well as lice. Valerian later found in her system. Flat not fit for a young child.

Child needs:

Anxious child. Doesn’t speak or babble at all. Doesn't smile. Easily upset. Not potty trained, overall poor hygiene and manners. Severe separation anxiety. Refuses physical contact. Doesn’t play with other children or adults. Likely retarded. No physical disabilities. Health recovered efficiently.

In need of a stable home. Mother’s relatives have refused to take her in. Father unreachable. Adoption by a financially stable, childless couple is preferred. Several pre-adoption meetings will be needed.

Contact the assigned social worker for any additional information

ASSERTION – Of course a twenty-four months old was not going to be potty trained. Idiots.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – It reminded you of so many painful things you put the file away at first. But you came back to it. Every day. Until you said to Ian you needed to adopt that little girl and not another.

SMARTASS – Wait. Wait wait wait. Hold up. That means Tristan is Ujin’s…

FOCUS – Is this any relevant to your investigation?

HYPERMNESIA – It could be.

FOCUS – But it isn’t relevant right now. I’ll take note of this discovery and save it for later use.

SMARTASS – But-

BLEEDING HEART – The less we involve Ujin in all this the better, don’t you think?

SMARTASS – … Probably. Isn’t it a little too big of a coincidence, though?

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – I mean. It’s not like it’s a subplot that's going to heavily impact the main narrative. Just this one.

RHETORIC – What the fuck are you talking about.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – I may be a door but I'm also handling the fourth wall. Whatever would you do without me.

FOCUS – Thank you. Back to the investigation at hand.

“Hey, missy, you alright?”

Magali is staring at Taiven with a slight concern.

COMPOSURE – You can’t let your inner emotions show.

“Yes. Yes, I'm fine. It’s nothing.”

“I get it,” Charles says in a somber tone. “Were probably just a kid yourself durin’ that Guerre, eh? Sorry if this brings back bad memories.”

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – For once, that wasn’t the issue, but the intention is appreciated.

COMPOSURE – You smile to reassure him.

“Thank you. I promise you I'm fine. You were talking about Tristan’s marriage?”

“Yeah. We followed along. Couldn’t leave him alone and the rest of the Ó Séaghdha wanted us gone anyways.”

“I see. So you're part of the house staff now?”

“You can say that, but we don’t get along with the others. All loyal to the missus, you see.”

“And ‘s why Tristan encouraged us to not stay with him all the time. To keep performing,” Charles says as he looks down at his dress.

BLEEDING HEART – They’re as important to him as he is to them.

THE HUNT – This is why they're being protected. If someone knew that this was their off-work hobby… If that someone were to be Charity…

SCATTERBRAIN – This bar, those costumes, it’s their escape.

COMPOSURE – But as soon as the make-up and wigs come off, all that's left is two tired people who’ve seen and lost too much.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – Aren’t you the same?

“He really cares about you, doesn't he?”

“Yeah, bless his stupid heart,” Magali mumbles.

COMPOSURE – Shoving her hand in her pockets so they don’t give her emotions away.

“If you're part of his staff… Does that mean you witnessed the abuse?”

NERVES – They tense up.

THEATRICS – They have.

RHETORIC – But they won’t talk about it.

THE HUNT – They’re risking a lot just with this conversation already.

Taiven leans in, crosses her fingers.

“How about this. I can guarantee your anonymity of your testimonies. They might ask for your official contribution if they launch an investigation, but you’d be safe until then. I’ll take care of all the rest.”

“And how d'you know we won’t get in trouble? We, or you. You’re just a kid.”

ASSERTION – You are not.

“Respectfully, miss Delestre, this isn’t my first time doing this.”

Magali raises a skeptical eyebrow.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – It’s true. Since you’ve been married, you've started looking for discrepancies in the Party. For corruption. Illegal fundings. Made entire files of evidence given anonymously to the authorities.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – Legal evidence and testimonies. If you went on a purge without proof, you'd be no better than them.

HYPERMNESIA – Six cases over the last three years. One in 193, two in 194, two in 195, one in January 196. Only one of those was dismissed due to lack of sufficient evidence. All other five warranted an investigation, four ended in a trial, all of them saw sentences. Some were forbidden to participate in any political election or meeting. Some were fined. Other were given restraining orders. Only a few actually got a jail sentence. Charges were numerous: corruption, illegal funding, domestic violence, sexual harassment or abuse, blackmail, death threats, tax fraud, theft, conspiracy, poll rigging, and so on. Some investigation unraveled more names than the ones you initially pinpointed. Several important faces never showed themselves again.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – Fang Xue (Center), Jean Laignel (Moderate), Nino Maler (Radical), Dolores Martinez (Radical), Elliott Tiffany (Center), Anna Harrison (Moderate), Bernardt Dabrzycki (Moderate), and more.

SHADOWSELF – Oh, some suspected you, of course, but they couldn't prove anything. You knew exactly how to do this.

RHETORIC – And to them, you wouldn’t have a motive, since you’re not running for parliament.

THEATRICS – Your traces are always covered.

ASSERTION – So they better start taking you seriously.

HYPERMNESIA – May I remind you that all your politico-legal achievements have not stopped your first time changing a diaper from being an absolute disaster?

SHADOWSELF – … Color yourself humbled.

“Alright then, miss been-there-done-that. Whaddaya got? ‘Cause we ain’t giving you testimonies without a better plan.”

RHETORIC – … But if there is one, they will. You got through their reluctance, you just need to think this through.

FOCUS – You can be really good at thinking things through when you put your mind to it.

“Alright. Then let’s play a game.”

“A game?”

“Of trust.”

Taiven starts waving her hand around.

“You don’t have to testify right now. I’d have to jot it down and that'd make it unreliable. Plus, I don't have anything to write with on me right now.”

HYPERMNESIA – You don’t usually need to write anything down.

“So here's my proposal: we're leaving it at that for tonight. I’ll let you think about testifying. But if you do intend to do so, then I want either two written detailed testimonies or an explicit written refusal to testify in my hands by next week. Different handwritings will convince the authorities much more than a copy.”

Magali crosses her arms again, a defiant glint in her eyes.

ASSERTION – She doesn’t like being bossed around either. Too bad.

“And how? We can't be seen with you or we’re done for.”

“I mentioned Janelle Venegas, right? She’s a People’s Party secretary and it seems she has a contact here. Penny, right? What's her full name?”

“Penelope Trescott,” Snowfeather chimes in from behind.

“You can give your testimonies or refusals to her and tell her it’s for Janelle, who will then hand them to me.”

SHADOWSELF – How can you be sure that this Penny's trustworthy?

PARTI DU PEUPLE – You can’t. But if nothing else, you trust Janelle's judgement.

“... Fine by me,” Charles sighs. “How much d'you need?”

BLEEDING HEART – He’s on board.

“As much as possible. The longer the better. Don’t spare any details. We’ll need everything if we want to bring Charity to justice.”

He nods. There’s a new determination in his eyes. Magali still seems conflicted.

SHADOWSELF – She’ll come around eventually.

“And… Even if you change your mind, I want to thank you both for being honest with me. It means a lot.”

Charles smiles again, ever so slightly.

“Heh, no sweat. You seem like a good lass. You coulda been way harsher on us after what we put you through.”

FEISTY FLESH – Yeah. You could have.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Magali grumbles. “I’m still not sure about you, but… Yeah. I’m not gonna nitpick. Not when someone finally cares ‘bout Tristan. Keep an eye on him for us when you can, aight?”

Taiven smiles back.

“Sure thing.”

PARTI DU PEUPLE – Comrades help each other out when they don’t bring each other down.

Behind Taiven, Snowfeather lightly clears their throat.

REFLEXES – Wh- you didn't even hear them get closer.

“If this conversation’s down, perhaps I can escort miss Taiven back to the exit?”

“Oh, that’s very considerate of you, but I'm fine. I don’t need an escort.”

Snowfeather tilts their head.

“Really? Can you try standing up for me?”

“Of c-”

THICKSKIN – Oh, fuck. Your vision went blurry for a second. Are your… Are your legs actually shaking?

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Woops. Guess we should have gotten more coffee, eh?

SUN-POWERED POWERPLANT – I told you. I told you the night was going to weigh us down eventually. If anyone just listened to me… This wouldn't have been happening.

FOCUS – If anyone listened to you, this investigation would still be at square one.

ASSERTION – Why's Snowfeather still smiling like that? I swear, if they dare laugh at us, you’re ripping that damn smile off their face with your teeth.

“That’s what I thought. For your safety, I'd rather walk with you until you at least get to a place with more people, in case you feel faint. After all…”

They lower their voice.

“We wouldn't want your husband to snoop around here looking for his missing wife, wouldn’t we, Mrs Markhov?”

THEATRICS – Fuck, how do they know that?!

COMPOSURE – Don’t react. Charles and Magali are still watching.

“No, we wouldn't. Lead the way, then. Good night to you, Mr and Miss Delestre.”

“See ya, missy.”

Snowfeather walks to the door, opens it, and does a little curtsy.

“After you.”

STREET SMARTS – Of course. They want to keep an eye on you.

THE HUNT – To not get backstabbed.

Taiven cautiously passes the threshold, still a little wobbly on her legs. Penny and Mayumi are still waiting in the corridor, despite Snowfeather’s statement about not needing guards.

NERVES – They look at you with apprehension. And perhaps a tinge of fear.

BLEEDING HEART – You can’t really blame them.

COMPOSURE – Despite this, you smile at them.

SHADOWSELF – Gotta keep a good relationship with potential sources.

“Good night to you two. Oh, and Penny? Amazing show.”

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – It was pretty great.

COMPOSURE – Penny blushes, utters a stammering “thank you”, Mayumi still looks at you with shame plastered all over her face. Then shyly waves you goodbye.

FEISTY FLESH – You wave back. Despite everything.

BLEEDING HEART – You always had a soft spot for kids.

Now it's just Taiven and Snowfeather in that corridor. They both stay silent. Only when Penny and Mayumi are out of sight does Taiven stops in her tracks to turn and stare at the costumer.

COMPOSURE – They don’t seem surprised in the least.

“Yes?”

“We’ve met before, haven’t we.”

Their face lightens up slightly.

“So you do remember! Even though it’s been such a long time… Great memory you have there.”

HYPERMNESIA – Normally you’d agree, but the thing is…

“I don’t exactly remember the details. And I don't really remember you.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. I looked much different then, the bar didn't even have the same name, and you were… maybe thirteen, fourteen?”

HYPERMNESIA – Fourteen?! But… The bar opened in 190. I’m sure of it. Are they saying I'm wrong?

SMARTASS – Nah, you're not. The “Brickwall” did open in 190. But if the bar had a different name before that, then maybe it was actually rebranded in 190. And remember what you said? You went into Solomon Street once, stoned, and you don’t remember what you did in there. Yet you remember what a drag show is, you remember the owner’s name and face, and you remember that costumer. So…

“What was the bar called then?” Taiven asks, trying to keep her voice steady.

Snowfeather chuckles.

“Oh, Gord and I opened it in 187. We called it the Finish Line, because we thought it’d be the end of our lives and that peace wouldn’t last. Turns out it was just the beginning, so we ended up choosing a less depressing name.”

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – The Finish Line. Of course fourteen year old you would be drawn to a place named that.

SMARTASS – So Gordianus and Snowfeather opened it together?

“So you're also the owner?”

“Not legally, no. I’m not exactly good with customer service or logistics, you see. I prefer the company of my mannequins. I just needed someone to help me rebuild the place I used to live in, Gordianus just suggested the idea.”

CITY GIRL – At his counter, Gordianus Gens Laurentia looks over his bar. Almost ten years since it opened, and the place flourishes. It’d all be perfect, if only they didn't have to pay that godforsaken credit.

SMARTASS – Uh, true. How did they manage to rebuild this place, just the both of them? With the decors and everything?

“Where did you get the money for that? The War didn’t make anything cheaper. Not by 187, at least.”

“I had to pull a few strings here and there, but we managed to get a credit.”

“Yes. Because you’re a mage.”

COMPOSURE – Their smile twitches. Just a little, but it twitches.

RHETORIC – That was a shot in the dark and it was the right one.

“Why yes. I am. Is that so strange?”

“In this place? It is. I saw the graffitis when I came in, I saw the kind of clientele you have. They don’t like mages much, around here, and you know it. Otherwise you wouldn't stay hidden backstage. Why didn’t you open somewhere else? You’d have made better numbers.”

“I'm not in for the money, Mrs Markhov.”

BLEEDING HEART – For the first time, there’s a bitterness in their eyes.

“I’ve always felt much closer to the non-mages than to the mages, you see. What happened during the War, the deportations, the arbitrary killings, the oppressions, it was nothing new to changelings like me.”

SMARTASS – … A changeling. Of course. That explains the weird feeling.

“They just broadened their scope. And I was not spared for being a mage.”

They slowly touch their own cheek. Glitter dusts off their skin.

“Do you see this face? It’s not mine. I borrowed it from a dead body and tweaked some details. And my name, a mere alias. Because they made sure I wouldn't remember either my real face or my real name by the time I got out of the cell they put me in.”

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – They weren’t the only one. Many, many changelings lost their entire identity during those times. And the end of the war just meant they'd have to go back into hiding.

BLEEDING HEART – You went a little overboard with your questions here.

“... I’m sorry if I was intrusive. I didn’t mean to downplay what you went through.”

Snowfeather shakes his head.

“It s quite alright, honey, I'm not blaming you. Especially not you. I’m the only mage here and I've seen how much everyone in the staff has suffered because they weren’t. I’ve seen, although briefly, how you suffered too.”

HYPERMNESIA – Right. You met. While being stoned.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Hey, don't look at me! You just know you went into Solomon Street when stoned, not if you went into the Finish Line stoned as well.

“... How… exactly did we meet?”

“Not in the best of circumstances, I'm afraid. Our bar had opened very recently, and we were having our little success with the drag shows we were hosting, although not as much as today. I know we were hosting one the night we met, but I was at my usual spot backstage and… well. Let’s say I was not expecting to find a teenage girl curled up in between my costumes. In the exact clothing rack Mayumi threw you at, by the way.”

HYPERMNESIA – Damn it. Just how much things do you not remember because of the damn drugs?!

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Not that much, honestly? I promise you that the Dlawenn incident and this are exceptions.

HYPERMNESIA – I should fucking hope so.

“Uh. I… What was I…”

Taiven lets out a deep sigh.

“Okay, I'll just ask. Was I high?”

“No, you weren't.”

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – IN. YOUR. FACE.

“But you were on a big drug comedown.”

RHETORIC – In whose face now?

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – You still weren't high. I stand by what I said.

“Gordianus was after you because apparently you had started panicking in the middle of the bar and you fled backstage. I told him I'd take care of you and that he should go back to work. I didn’t want him to stress you out more, not when you were having a full-blown paranoia crisis.”

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – … Of course you were.

“Kept saying over and over that someone was going to catch you. That you would die, that they were coming back to finish what they started because they knew it was all your fault.”

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – It was. It still is. You’re never washing it off you.

“I didn't ask. I gave you something to eat, a cigarette, and you calmed down eventually. You stayed until morning, until I was sure you could walk home. You left pretty quick. I think you were ashamed.”

SHADOWSELF – As you should have been.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – There are only a few things to not be ashamed of about you.

“I wasn’t expecting to see your face when I turned those lights on, I admit.”

“... You recognized me?”

“Dear, you’re talking to a changeling. No disguise can fool me but my own. As for your name, I'm quite an avid TV watcher and radio listener. It keeps my eyes busy when my hands sew. Glad to see you overcame that fear of crowds.”

RHETORIC – It’s easier when you’re speaking to the crowd and not part of it.

NERVES – It's also easier when you stop doing drugs.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Hey, don’t look at me!

“Well… Thank you for taking care of me that night and not letting me put myself in danger. I have one more question, though.”

“Do tell?”

“You still haven’t told me how you got the money to rebuild this place.”

HYPERMNESIA – If they thought you forgot about that, they were wrong.

COMPOSURE – Yet their smile remains the same.

“I didn't. And I don’t intend to, since it’s not relevant to your investigation. I believe we’re at the end of this corridor, Taiven, and therefore of this conversation. Be careful in your endeavors.”

RHETORIC – Straight-up refused to answer, uh.

SMARTASS – That's alright. You have a few theories on where the money came from. Think about it again. A bar that promotes small drag artists, with a mage in the two founders, a mage who talked about “pulling some strings” to get a credit…

PARTI DU PEUPLE – … Do you think the money came from a Clique?

SMARTASS – It could have.

RHETORIC – It’s a maybe, maybe not situation. There’s tons of strings you can pull. Most of the staff is non-mage. They could have gotten the money from elsewhere, it’s just a possibility.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – A possibility best left alone.

THE HUNT – Cliques are dangerous.

Taiven slowly shakes her head, then gets out through the same door she entered backstage with.

SENSES (HEARING) – The bar is still animated. No one notices you.

THICKSKIN – You're stable enough on your feet. The bike ride home shouldn't be too much of an issue.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – You might have two testimonies by next week. Good work.

Heinrich is still at the counter, she passes by him without so much as sparing a glance as she goes out out of the bar.

SCATTERBRAIN – Huh- You could have at least said goodbye…

SHADOWSELF – He can go fuck himself.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Damn, you really can't handle rejection, huh? Kinda ironic considering how quick you are to reject people.

SHADOWSELF – I’m not taking any shit from you out of all of us.

HYPERMNESIA – Agreed. What the hell was this? You made us go into a random bar on a drug crash? What if it had been dangerous?

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Uh, given our state, it was more dangerous to stay out in the street at night. And see, it turned out fine.

THEATRICS – You call that fine?!

ASSERTION – You know how it feels, walking around on an investigation and just randomly bumping into people who only see you as that idiot, unconscious junkie kid?!

BLEEDING HEART – Someone who only ever gets pity?

COMPOSURE – Think about our image. About how you irreparably damaged it.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – What if the Party found out? Dlawenn and Janelle already know and Janelle has spread rumors about you before. And she’s engaged to Anthony. If he ever were to spread the word that you’re a former addict, your credibility goes down the drain.

THE HUNT – Like it wasn’t enough putting us into danger. And you keep doing it too. Trying to get us to drink and smoke and relapse. All the time. It’s exhausting.

FOCUS – We can never lead a proper, serious investigation without you disturbing our thought process.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – … Oh. Okay. Okay! So that's how it is, huh? I'm the bad guy! I’m the one who gets you into trouble! I’m the devil on your shoulder! Gods, you're all so fucking stupid. Or just conveniently blaming me for your incompetence.

RHETORIC – What?

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Do you even know why I'm around? Because I fucking saved you, that's why. Because none of you holier-than-thou fuckheads managed to keep us going. Because you made us remember stuff no matter how painful it is-

HYPERMNESIA – It's not like I have a choice!!

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Neither did I! I fucking had to lead you to safety so you wouldn't go sleep on the street, to keep your brain going through drugs because it couldn't keep up on its own, because either no one else was here or the one who were actively brought you down!

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – … I tried to protect you too.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Yeah, by putting you in constant pain. You were only manageable when you took substances. Because it made you shut the fuck up. Without me, this body would have died in a ditch somewhere and none of you would be here to lecture me. Who the fuck do you think handled everything when miss sunshine and rainbows over there wasn’t here?!

SUN-POWERED POWERPLANT – …

SMARTASS – Well, it’s not like your contributions are ever helpful.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Because you keep trying to shut me up. To shut me out. Like you don't need me anymore now that you got your shit together. Like I'm not the one who made you like exercise so you could all handle the pressure you put yourselves under. Like I'm not the one who remembers how to have fun, who makes you care, like I'm not the one who makes you actually enjoy being alive. It’s pretty fucking convenient to have me around, gives you someone to blame when all you know how to do is scream at each other. You know why we’re struggling? It's because you can't handle the fact that this isn’t my fault. It’s yours. Because you suck at dealing with the consequences of me helping you all survive. I'm always counting on you to handle the rest and the truth is, you can’t. You're all fucking useless. But if you want to be some workaholic, martyred ball of nerves that can’t find any joy in life, then be my fucking guest.

BLEEDING HEART – That's mean. You're mean.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – At least I know my worth instead of guilt tripping myself over any emotions people might feel.

SHADOWSELF – Shut up. You're embarrassing yourself.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Oh am I now? At least I find some satisfaction within the shit you put me through trying to play all grown-up, you little self-absorbed bi-

SCATTERBRAIN – Stop! Please. Please. All of you, just- just stop. You're being dummies and idiots. No one is gonna shut anyone up, okay?!

RHETORIC – Well, you just shut them up.

NERVES – No, but… Really. I think you’re very, very tired.

SOLLERTIA – Your bike’s right here. You should get going before you pass out.

THICKSKIN – You’re not gonna pass out-

SUN-POWERED POWERPLANT – Stop playing tough. I’m begging you.

SMARTASS – Do you guys really want to stand there and argue like a bunch of kindergartners?

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – … No. I want to go home and see my husband and kid.

BLEEDING HEART – Me too. I miss them.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – After what you learned tonight, you really need to hug Ujin.

FEISTY FLESH– Good! Then we hop on and we go the fuck home.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – Home.

THE HUNT – Where you're safe.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Where you’re loved.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – Just home.

It turns out, the Chief Head of the Bureau can't get a free evening that easily. So when he finally does, it’s been two weeks since Taiven met Tristan and that Janelle gave her the paper, still tucked away safely in her nightstand drawer.

25B Solomon Street. The Brickwall. Charles and Magali Delestre.

She repeats the names and the places in her mind as she looks at herself in the bathroom mirror.

SHADOWSELF – Honestly? That temporary hair dye doesn’t look half bad.

SCATTERBRAIN – PINK! SHINY! LIKE YOUR TANK TOP!

COMPOSURE – The top is even shinier.

The top in question is sleeveless fluorescent pink, impossible to miss. It shows all of Taiven’s upper back and stops a little below the chest, thus showing a good proportion of her lower back as well. There’s a zipper at the front that she could use to reduce the impressive cleavage it gives her, but she chose to leave it as it is, wide open. The rest of her clothes consists of ripped black shorts, a leather jacket and matching boots which are currently strewn around the bathroom. She took off her wedding ring, exceptionally.

THE HUNT – Showing too much skin. It isn't safe.

SHADOWSELF – What, because you look like a hooker? It might be true, but hey, you have arguments, sunshine. It'd be a shame to trap them into some synthetic pink fabric.

THE HUNT – But you're exposed.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Nah, you’re gonna leave that bar with at least three hoes in tow, I'm telling you.

SCATTERBRAIN – I knew it, I knew that thing was going to come in handy!

COMPOSURE – It's still very… tacky. At least you didn't wear it when you picked Ujin up from school.

SHADOWSELF – Heavens, no. You have enough of a reputation among other parents as it is.

COMPOSURE – The top also shows the tattoo on your left hip. Extra point for coolness.

HYPERMNESIA – You got it done last year. On February 13th.

CITY GIRL – In her tattoo shop The Hole in the Heart down Liberty Boulevard, Ifeyinwa Madueke stretches and looks upon her stencils. She's getting more and more requests lately. Not that she's complaining, mind you. What better way to make a living that help people reclaim their war-marked bodies? She loves her job. She still keeps the design she made for you in her drawer.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – A sun expanding around a bullet impact.

SCATTERBRAIN – Something morbid turning into something beautiful. Rays of light reaching out from a black hole. The sky reconstructing itself around its own wounds.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Healing.

COMPOSURE – Your reflection smiles at you.

Taiven puts down the temporary pink hair dye spray she used to color the formerly blonde parts of her hair, ties it into a small ponytail at the back of her head and lets a few strands loose in her neck. Then she starts on her make-up, with glossy, bright pink eyeshadow and purple glitter spread around the corner of her eyes and down to her cheekbones.

SCATTERBRAIN – Glitter ! Glitter EVERYWHERE !

COMPOSURE – Not everywhere. You’re not a disco ball.

SENSES (HEARING) – There's a small sound in the hallway, fast and soft little footsteps.

Someone turns the doorknob, and big, curious blue eyes sneak a peek through the opening. Smooth dark hair surrounds a round and freckled face that always seems full of questions and wonder. Taiven turns her head to look at Ujin, her soon-to-be four-years old daughter, with a smile.

“Hi there, baby. Do you need something?”

The little girl stops in her tracks, eyes wide, then points her finger at her mother.

COMPOSURE – It took her a second to recognize you.

ASSERTION – It's not very polite to point fingers-

“Mommy, you're pink.”

FOCUS – An astute observation, child.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – She's so cute. I wanna eat her. And give her butterfly kisses. And make her laugh.

SMARTASS – Hamsters will sometimes eat their offspring. Reasons may include stress, fear, a change in the babies’ scent, lack of food, inability to provide for all the-

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – You won’t eat her, no matter how cute she is ! Bad Taiven, bad! She’s no baby hamster!

SCATTERBRAIN – She looks like one when she eats too much food at once!

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – And she’s adorable while doing it.

Taiven laughs heartily and crouches down in front of her daughter to be at eye level.

“I am! Do you like it?”

Ujin nods vigorously.

“Yes! You’re pwetty.”

RHETORIC – “Pwetty”... Awwwww…

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Your daughter told you you're pretty. All of your needs have been fulfilled. Life is good.

HYPERMNESIA – When you adopted her a year ago, she was all shy and timid and barely spoke a word. Now she's all serious and talks like a book.

“You're shiny too!” Ujin exclaims.

SOLLERTIA – Two small, tiny hands press against your cheeks.

RHETORIC – Oh, she means your make-up!

“Yes, it's glitter!”

“Guh-litah,” Ujin repeats, an expression of intense focus on her face.

“Yes, glitter.”

“Can I be shiny too?”

SCATTERBRAIN – “Guhlitah.” Everywhere.

THICKSKIN – A little bit wouldn't hurt. She isn't allergic to anything.

“Sure! Hold on.”

SCATTERBRAIN – You get the blue glitter to match her eyes and sprinkle a few specks on her cheeks.

“Tickle!” Ujin yelps, laughing.

FEISTY FLESH – You carry her in your arms so she can see herself in the mirror.

BLEEDING HEART – A huge smile covers her face and she waves excitedly at her reflection.

“That’s me!!”

Taiven happily bounces her daughter on her hip, hopping up and down in front of the mirror.

FEISTY FLESH – She’s so small. Featherlight.

THE HUNT – Must protect at all costs.

“Yess! That's you! You're so pretty!”

“Pwetty like mommy,” Ujin giggles.

BLEEDING HEART – Pure, unbridled happiness. From her, and from you.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – If you die now, you'll die happy.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – But you still have a job to do.

Taiven lays out a row of lipsticks on the edge of the sink.

COMPOSURE – Most of them have never been opened.

“Okay, Ujin, I have a veeery important mission for you.”

REFLEXES – Your daughter’s head swivels towards you at such speed you’re afraid she’ll snap her tiny neck.

RHETORIC – You have her full attention.

“Mommy needs to get some color on her mouth for tonight. So, which do you like most?”

COMPOSURE – I hope you're ready for the consequences of this question.

SCATTERBRAIN – Oh, come on. It’ll be fine! And she loves being involved!

THEATRICS – Worse-case scenario, you'll wipe it off before leaving.

“Hmm…”

Ujin focuses extra hard, squinting at all the colors laid out in front of her. Then she points decisively at one of them, in the middle.

“This!”

COMPOSURE – A bright, red, glossy one. That's… actually a good choice.

SCATTERBRAIN – Told you!

“Why thanks, sunrise, that's perfect.”

SCATTERBRAIN – She looks at you like you're the sun itself or a goddess come alive.

SHADOWSELF – No other eyes have made you feel so beautiful before.

THEATRICS – But alas! You have to set her down on the floor so you can apply that lipstick. Pain is beauty, as they say.

Ujin watches quietly as Taiven applies the last touch to her make-up. She closes the tube of lipstick, gives herself a pensive look.

COMPOSURE – You look perfect. Unless one knows you really well, you’re nearly unrecognizable.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – And they aren’t many people who know you well. Not many left, anyways.

“Mommy?” Ujin calls out again.

BLEEDING HEART – There’s a little disturbance in her voice. Oh, barely noticeable, but you're her mother.

“Yes?”

“Why are you pink?”

Taiven blinks.

RHETORIC – She’s a smart kid. She knows something unusual is going on, that you're not getting all dolled up for the sake of it.

“Well, uh… Mommy’s going out tonight, you see. It's a special occasion.”

COMPOSURE – Her face falls as quick as it lit up earlier.

RHETORIC – Oh. Shit. That wasn't a good answer, was it?

“... You're leaving?”

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – Oh no. It really wasn’t.

NERVES – DAMAGE CONTROL, DAMAGE CONTROL!

“Yes, I'm leaving, but it's only for one night. I’ll be back tomorrow. And you’ll get to have some time alone with daddy tonight!”

NERVES – Her chin trembles. This isn’t working.

FEISTY FLESH – You kneel on the floor and take her hands in yours.

“Ujin… It’s just for tonight. I promise. And daddy will be right there! It's gonna be really special.”

“B-But I don't wanna,” she sobs. “I don't wanna…”

HYPERMNESIA – It took you an entire month to get her to sleep alone in bed after adopting her. The first day of preschool, the teacher called you because she couldn’t stop crying. She calls for you as soon as you leave her side. You still have to pee with the door open, just in case. Given her background, it makes sense that she's an anxious child.

SCATTERBRAIN – Do you really have to leave? Can't you stay a little longer after Ian arrives?

PARTI DU PEUPLE – You don’t have time for this.

BLEEDING HEART – What is she gonna think? Leaving her at home to investigate at some stupid bar? This is awful. You're awful. You're an awful, terrible mom who’s abandoning her child.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Oh, come on, you've been mommying so hard all this year! When's the last time you've gone out to have some fun?!

PARTI DU PEUPLE – This isn't fun. This is your duty.

ASSERTION – And you need to get her used to not having you around all the time. You're spoiling her too much.

BLEEDING HEART – But she needs you! She needs you and you're leaving!

THICKSKIN – Grow the fuck up.

COMPOSURE – As tears roll down her cheeks, despite your best efforts, you feel some sting your eyes.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Hey. You made up something for this exact situation, remember?

HYPERMNESIA – You did.

SHADOWSELF – Calm her down first.

“Ujin. Ujin, look at me.”

COMPOSURE – You keep your voice low and calm, as soothing as you can manage.

“Remember what we said the other day? If we miss mommy and mommy’s not around, we…?”

Ujin sniffles.

“W-We look at the sun and we call f-for mommy in our mind…”

“And you do that because?”

“B-Because mommy and me, we're children of the s-s-sun, so m-mommy will hear me even if she’s not here…”

“Exactly. Very good. And if the sun’s not in the sky anymore?”

“W-We do the same thing with the moon. T-Then we go to bed because it will make the sun come back f-faster.”

COMPOSURE – She's calmed down a bit. Remembering this and holding your hands grounded her.

SMARTASS – The sun won’t actually come back any faster, it's scientifically impossible, but… hey, that's a lie I can get behind.

“Good. I’m very proud of you, Ujin. If you're scared, remember what daddy says all the time too, okay? The sun…”

“... Always comes back.”

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – As long as you have eyelids to open.

Ujin nods slowly, wiping her eyes and nose on her sleeve.

SHADOWSELF – Aaaand that’s one dirtied sleeve.

SMARTASS – Oh, shut up, she's not even four yet! Of course she's gonna get dirty!

SENSES (HEARING) – A door opens and closes downstairs. Then a familiar voice rings out.

THEATRICS – Your savior! And, incidentally, your husband.

“Good evening! Anybody home?”

“Coming!” Taiven shouts back before turning back to her daughter. “We’re gonna go say hello to daddy. Are you okay with that?”

Ujin nods again. She still seems a little bummed out, but at least she’s calmed down.

BLEEDING HEART– Great job. Now she's mad at you.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Would she take your hand to walk down the stairs if she was?

Ian has taken off both his shoes and coat when they arrive downstairs.

“Hi daddy,” Ujin mutters.

SENSES (SIGHT) – He noticed Ujin’s puffy eyes and wet cheeks before she even spoke.

COMPOSURE – A hint of worry flicks over his eyes. Then it’s gone.

“Hi, Ujin. How was school today? Did you have fun?”

“Yeah,” she replies laconically.

SMARTASS – He doesn’t even need to ask you anything to understand the situation.

COMPOSURE – A reassuring smile.

RHETORIC – “I’ll take it from here.”

ASSERTION – As if you couldn't handle things on your own! You don’t need his help.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – You do! There's no shame in that!

Only then does Ian seem to notice Taiven's appearance. He blinks, slowly, trying to assimilate the picture.

COMPOSURE – He’s not laughing, but it takes a lot of effort.

SHADOWSELF – Ugh. He thinks you look like a clown.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Who gives a shit! Ujin thinks you’re pretty.

“Well, someone went all out tonight.”

RHETORIC – He knows where you’re going and why. You told him.

THEATRICS – He’s barely pretending he doesn't. Because of the kid.

“Why, thank you, I am glad you noticed,” Taiven replies before doing a little hair flip.

Ian has a little chuckle.

“Hard not to, if I'm honest.”

COMPOSURE – You are very pink and quite tall.

ASSERTION – He admires your dedication to this.

“Well, Ujin, you and I are going to have a little tête-à-tête tonight, don’t we?”

Ujin shrugs, shoulders limp.

BLEEDING HEART – She's still sulking.

SMARTASS – Pretty sure she doesn’t know what a “tête-à-tête” even is, but she probably gets the idea.

SOLLERTIA – You let go of her little hand…

BLEEDING HEART – You monster.

SOLLERTIA – … And put your boots on. The zipper struggles a little but you manage to get it all the way up eventually.

Ian went up to Ujin, who’s attached herself to his leg. He smiles, waves gently at his wife.

“Have fun.”

RHETORIC – “Be safe.”

ASSERTION – You're a grown woman, not some rowdy teenager…

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Ah, come on, he just cares about you.

“I will!”

She gets up to go, opens the door-

“Mommy!”

THE HUNT – She needs you.

REFLEXES – You turn back around so fast you almost trip over your own feet.

THICKSKIN – A little body collides against your leg, but you stand firm.

Watery blue eyes look up at Taiven.

“Goodbye hug?”

BLEEDING HEART – Yes please. Goodbye hug.

ASSERTION – Alright, fuck it, goodbye hug.

Taiven crouches on and wraps her arms around her daughter.

FEISTY FLESH – Don't forget to squeeze. She loves being squeezed.

SCATTERBRAIN – Biiiiiig squeeze.

BLEEDING HEART – She squeezes back and suddenly everything falls back to its rightful place.

SENSES (SMELL) – You take a big whiff of her scent. Grass and sun and laundry and baby soap.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – I admit, it puts any drug to shame.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – You need her more than she needs you.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – There is such a thing as loving too much. But right now, you don't care.

COMPOSURE – Alright, time to let go now. C’mon.

Taiven slowly exhales, before letting go of her daughter and giving her a light kiss on the forehead.

“See you tomorrow, baby. I love you.”

She starts to walk away from the door again, and this time, she only glances back when Ujin calls for her again.

“Mommy!”

SENSES (SIGHT) – She's standing on the porch with her arms spread out.

COMPOSURE – Fighting off tears like the brave little girl she is.

“I love you this big!”

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – She’s so fucking cute.

ASSERTION – Ah, but you won't be defeated in the love battle.

Taiven spreads out her arms as well, walking backwards, and yells accross the yard,

“I love you even bigger!”

SHADOWSELF – Yep, the neighbors definitely think you're crazy now.

SCATTERBRAIN – Bah! Let them talk.

SENSES (HEARING) – An adorable giggle.

“No, I love you bigger! Big like the sky!”

SCATTERBRAIN – WELL YOU LOVE HER BIG LIKE A THOUSAND SKIES!

FOCUS – Alright, maybe that's enough.

AIM/READY/FIRE – Yeah, you almost tripped on yourself walking like that.

Ian ends up speaking a few words Taiven can't hear to Ujin, who looks in much better spirits now, and they both wave goodbye while she walks away.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – With the comforting ghost handprints of Ujin’s hands still on your back.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Time to go.

The sun hasn’t set on Encre yet. It’s only 6:15 pm after all, and by the time Taiven’s bike reaches Solomon Street, it's 6:30.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Bah! That was a breeze!

THE HUNT – Sure, omit the parts where you almost crashed into cars at rush hour and nearly died. Very convenient.

THICKSKIN – You’ve crashed a car before and you were fine.

BLEEDING HEART – But Toshiki wasn't.

THE HUNT – There's a difference between crashing a car and crashing into one-

SCATTERBRAIN – SHUT UP AND LOOK AT HOW COOL THE BAR LOOKS.

The Brickwall is, at it name states, at the ground floor of a red-brick building. Garlands of multi-colored lights decorate the façade. The huge window is half covered by heavy curtains and marked with graffito, but you can still see throbbing lights from the inside.

SENSES (SIGHT) – The graffito reads, “FUCK THE M”, the rest has been wiped off.

SCATTERBRAIN – M… M… Manager? Music? Menu? Milkshakes?

RHETORIC – Markhovs?

SMARTASS – Mages.

ASSERTION – Nice.

COMPOSURE – Okay. Smooth your jacket, rearrange your hair, check your make-up in the window. All good? Then time to go in.

FOCUS – Remember: you’re here to find and question Charles and Magali Delestre.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Not to get drunk. Are we clear?

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Yeah, yeah, whatever.

Taiven pushes the door open and walks into the unknown lair, trying to mask the nervous lump in her throat with a confident smile.

FOCUS – The place is bigger than it looks on the outside, but it remains cramped. It’s filled with tables and chairs with barely enough space to circulate in between, and some corner booths with faded seats that were probably red once but now look a strange purple-ish. The walls are covered in very leftist posters and old newspapers clippings.

SMARTASS – Some date from during the war. A rarity.

FOCUS – Behind the greasy counter, a young man, dark-skinned, buzzed head, golden earrings, about your age, is taking orders from the first few clients. A very small man with long, pointy ears and sparkly hair stands on a stool behind him, cleaning glasses.

SMARTASS – A wingless fairy.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – A survivor.

ASSERTION – By his aura, you can tell he’s the boss around here.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – So. Many. Different types. Of booze.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Ahh! Pssssht! No! No touchy!

SENSES (SIGHT) – There's also what seems to be a stage on the far left, with a lot of stuff on it, but you can't see it very well because of all the bright neon lights.

SMARTASS – You're early.

SHADOWSELF – Don’t ask them about the Delestre right away. Order something first. No one likes people snooping around their bar, even if you're not police.

THE HUNT – If you were police, you'd be dead meat.

As Taiven approaches the bar, the owner turns around to look at her.

BLEEDING HEART – Blue eyes. Surprisingly soft. It’d make anyone feel at home.

“Evening. What can I get y-”

SENSES (HEARING) – He’s immediately interrupted by the loudest blaring of music you've ever heard coming from the stage.

NERVES – FUCK!

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Aw, come on, you were right about to get that drink!

SCATTERBRAIN – That music sounds like a song was wrangled out a bunch of wildflowers who overgrew on the wires of an old dereclit factory and I can't tell if it's good or bad.

SMARTASS – That's electro-bagpipe, actually. Combined with viola and drums. Interesting choice.

The owner has a grimace, then tries to say something to Taiven, but all she sees is his mouth moving.

SENSES (HEARING) – WHAT?

STREET SMARTS – You preemptively cover your ears.

NERVES– UGH, SOMEONE MAKE IT STOP!

THICKSKIN – You’ve been here for five minutes, how are you already overwhelmed?!

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – You're too sober, that's why.

COMPOSURE – The fairy grits his teeth, then straight-up climbs on the countertop, before shouting at the top of his lungs with a surprisingly high-pitched voice,

SENSES (HEARING) – “MAYUMI! TURN DOWN THE DAMN VOLUME, YOU'RE GONNA CALL THE PIGS UPON US, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!”

No response. He sighs, then shouts again,

SENSES (HEARING) – “VOLUME. DOWN. NOW.”

AIM/READY/FIRE – Each word is accompanied by a gesture that's probably more useful than the shouting.

NERVES – Between his yelling and the music, you probably lost twenty percent of your audition…

STREET SMARTS – Nah, you've been through worse, you're just getting old.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Old?! You're going on twenty-four, that’s still young!

SENSES (HEARING) – The music stops so suddenly it makes the silence sound almost deafening.

THICKSKIN – Your ears are ringing. You’ll go to bed with tinnitus tonight.

“About time,” the owner groans. “What was that for?”

Someone jumps from the stage and walks over to the bar. A young girl, apparently a human, with thick black hair puffing around her huge headphones and eyes just as black.

“It's not my fault! The speakers break down every night, and every night I must fix them, so forgive me if the sound check disturbs your peace!”

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – There’s something to her. She’s your very mirror and your very opposite all at once.

SMARTASS – A vampire? But she… looks human.

COMPOSURE – Looks human.

“It’s not my peace, it's about the clients’! Just ‘cause you’re deaf as a post doesn’t mean you have to make everybody else the same!”

SMARTASS – So that kid is deaf. Or at the very least, hard-of-hearing.

RHETORIC – Make sure you articulate when you speak to her.

The girl raises an eyebrow and takes her earphones off to look at Taiven, like she's only just noticed her.

“Oh! You’re new here. Welcome, welcome, and sorry about that!”

SENSES (HEARING) – She speaks at an extremely loud volume.

SMARTASS – Not one other client has uttered a complaint. They must be used to this.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – She flashes you a huge smile.

THE HUNT – Baring two small fangs.

SMARTASS – A half-vampire.

“I’m Mayumi, lead technician here! Sorry ‘bout the blaring. It’s just those damn things, they're super old… We can't, like, afford much better. So if you wanna leave a tip…”

“Mayumi.”

“Yes, yes, Gord. Ugh, Bilal, can I at least get a drink for my efforts ?”

HYPERMNESIA – “Gord”. It’s short for Gordianus. That man’s name is Gordianus Gens Laurentia.

SMARTASS – Wow. Where do you even remember that from?

HYPERMNESIA – You don’t know. You just do.

The aforementioned Bilal, the barista, smiles warmly.

BLEEDING HEART – They're close, Mayumi and him.

“Sure thing. The usual?”

“I’d ask for a beer, but-”

“You are still not of drinking age,” Gordianus cuts in. “Nice try.”

“Boo.”

SMARTASS – Yeah, she can’t be older than sixteen.

COMPOSURE – Yet dark circles underline her eyes.

SCATTERBRAIN – Wells of petrol in the middle of a tan yet sallow face.

CITY GIRL – Mayumi Edo barely leaves the Brickwall. She sleeps a little between 11am and 4am everyday. Gordianus lets her stay here so she doesn't return to her former bed, a bunch of soggy cardboards in some junkie-riddled back alley. The streets are home to all, but house to none.

BLEEDING HEART – So young. Poor thing.

“What about you, darling? What do you drink?”

RHETORIC – It's you. You're “darling”.

COMPOSURE – Shit. Bilal’s looking at you and you didn't think about your order.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – You should get some strong shit! Like whiskey, that’ll get you through the night-

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – No. Getting drunk at night is the worst move.

THE HUNT – It'd make you worse than vulnerable. An easy target.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Well what do you suggest we get, then, lemonade?!

SHADOWSELF – You’re going to straight up lose all credibility if you do that.

COMPOSURE – Since there's some disturbances hindering your decision-making, you stand there with a blank stare and your mouth slightly agape.

“Uh…”

RHETORIC – Wow. Very eloquent.

SHADOWSELF – Lucky for you, Bilal seems amused by your jellyfish brain.

“Ah, too much choices, are there?”

“Oooo, can I recommend a drink, can I?!” Mayumi exclaims excitedly.

“Sure, go ahead,” Bilal chuckles while sliding a drink across the counter to her. A red, fizzy drink with ice and a colorful plastic straw.

SCATTERBRAIN – Looks like… Uh... Grenadine? Please tell me it's grenadine.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Yeah, no, that's definitely blood.

“So! Do you drink alcohol, ma’am?”

RHETORIC – Do you?

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Come on… Please?

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – … Fiiiine, if it’s not too strong, you can have one drink.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – FUCK YEAH!

“Yep, sure do. What’s your pick, Mayumi?”

The teenager grabs an old paper menu, as greasy as the rest of the bar, and slaps it upon the counter.

“Well, for you, I’d recommend this!”

She taps on a little drawing of a yellow, sparkly beverage with a hint of pinkish starlight.

THE HUNT – Looks radioactive.

SCATTERBRAIN – Looks soooo good.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – If there's alcohol, I'll take anything, but let’s listen to the description.

“It’s called the… Uh… New Dawn Sunrise.”

THEATRICS – She came up with that name on the spot.

SMARTASS – It’s literally a pleonasm.

SCATTERBRAIN – It’s a good one, though! Let's hear some more.

“What’s it made of?”

“Mango, orange, lemon zest, some hibiscus aroma and raspberry syrup mixed with yellow chartreuse!”

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – But wait, isn’t yellow chartreuse…

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Kinda strong? Naaah.

SMARTASS – It is. 43% ABV.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Fucking tattletale.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – You’re not drinking that.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Come on! It’s mixed with other stuff, it won’t hit as hard!

THICKSKIN – And you can hold your liquor quite well, especially if it’s just one drink.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – But-

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Screw it. You only live once!

“Well, I'm sold. And so is that drink!”

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Oh come on!

“Great! I knew you’d like it,” Mayumi grins widely. “It's sunny, like you.”

RHETORIC – Her way of telling you she knows you're a Gaikamshigthai.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – I like that kid.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – You know what? Me too.

“One New Dawn Sunrise, coming right up,” Bilal sings to himself before turning to his station.

SOLLERTIA – That shaker looks brand new. A bit out of place among the rest of worn-out equipment.

“Thanks, Mayumi. I hope I'm not making a mistake here,” Taiven jokes.

“No way! I’m great at this.”

COMPOSURE – Unseen to Mayumi, a small smile agitates Gordianus' lips behind his counter.

STREET SMARTS – That girl will make a fine barista in a few years.

“How’re you paying, miss?” Gordianus asks, looking a little more relaxed.

“Cash.”

SOLLERTIA – You rummage through your pouch to find your wallet. You tried to travel light. There’s some make-up in case yours gets smudged, glitter spray, a pocket knife, a pack of tissues, your spare glasses. Your house keys are in your pocket.

AIM/READY/FIRE – No gun. If they somehow found it on you, you’d be in trouble. Plus, you’d rather not use them indoors.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – Or at all, really.

THE HUNT – But better safe than sorry.

FEISTY FLESH – Who needs a weapon when you have fists?

SMARTASS – Are your fists bulletproof? There’s that saying, you know, “never bring a knife to a gun fight”-

SOLLERTIA – You find some coins and slide them accross the counter. Gordianus pockets them with obvious satisfaction.

STREET SMARTS – Business is business and you're contributing to his tonight.

“Drink’s ready!”

Bilal puts the cocktail down in front of Taiven. It looks just like the drawing on the menu.

SCATTERBRAIN – Yellow, pink, and weirdly sparkly.

BLEEDING HEART – Mayumi watches you expectantly as you raise the drink to your mouth.

SENSES (TASTE) – Well-mixed. You can feel the raspberry, the mango, the little sourness brought by the citrus fruits… You can’t really taste the hibiscus but you've never had any before, so you can’t really tell. As for the alcohol…

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Man, it's good. Like, really good. Good quality and everything. That shit’s a blast. Best thing you’ve had in a while. Alcohol is nice and all but when you know how to make it taste actually good? That’s true mastery right there. Savor it.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Let's just hope it doesn't come back to bite you in the ass later.

“It’s amazing,” Taiven says. “Like, really. But be honest, Mayumi, did you make it up on the spot?”

The young girl cackles loudly.

“The name, yeah, but the cocktail was actually an experimental thing Bilal just put on his menu! He’s just too shy to ask anyone to order it.”

COMPOSURE – Bilal blushes to the tip of his ears and tries to swat Mayumi with his hand, but she dodges.

“Well, my compliments to the barista then,” Taiven says as she raises her glass. “That mix is gonna make a killing.”

The young man smiles again, massaging his neck.

“Oh honey, you're too kind. But thank you.”

“So!” Mayumi immediately bounces off. “I know you people don’t really do nights, but are you staying to watch the show?”

“Um, what show?”

Bilal chuckles as he shakes another drink, making a rattling sound.

“Right. It's your first time here, isn’t it? We set up a drag show every week, for beginners and experts alike.”

“And I'm taking care of the lights and everything!” Mayumi chimes. “Well, I said I was the lead technician, but I'm more like the only technician, really.”

SMARTASS – A drag show is-

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – You know what a drag show is.

HYPERMNESIA – How? You've never been to one. Or really frequented these kinds of circles. Have you?

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Teehee. Maybe. Maybe not. You should answer him, don't you think?

“Wow, I wasn't aware. I mean, I might not stay until the end, but I'd love to watch! If I could just get some coffee to stay awake?”

SENSES (HEARING) – Bilal’s earrings clink as he does a little curtsy.

“Of course, darling. And since you were so nice about the cocktail, it’s on the house. But only today! Get yourself a table or a booth, I'll bring it later. Black?”

“Yes, black.”

“Thought so.”

SCATTERBRAIN – You get a booth, obviously. Because booths are comfy.

THE HUNT – And they feel safe.

FOCUS – It also gives you a good vantage point on the stage.

SOLLERTIA – Man, Mayumi wasn't kidding. Those speakers don’t just look old, they look ancient. And speakers as a whole haven't even been in the market for that long…

THEATRICS – Other than that, it's a pretty neat stage! Maybe a little narrow, and the curtains are a bit washed-up, but it goes with the general vibe.

FOCUS – Alright. You need to get more proactive. You've certainly met people, but none of them are Charles or Magali Delestre, and the later it gets, the more people are coming in. You've blended in, now time to ask around. Discreetly.

Right as the neon lights start to dim, a waiter arrives with a cup of piping hot coffee, that he gently settles down in front of Taiven.

“Aaaand here’s for you, missy!”

SMARTASS – He's older than Mayumi, but younger than Bilal. Around your age.

COMPOSURE – That's an unnaturally large smile if you've ever seen one.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – He’s high as fuck.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Wait, what?

COMPOSURE – Blown pupils. Unfocused gaze. Wobbly legs. Blissful expression. Yes, he’s most definitely on something.

SHADOWSELF – Hey, that's your chance. He might be a little less inhibited than the other employees. Try and shoot some questions before he wanders off.

“Thank you… Hum, could I ask another favor?”

COMPOSURE – How the hell did that smile get even wider?

“Sure, girlie, anything ya want! I’m your humble servant.”

ASSERTION – “Girlie”? Who does that boy think he is?

SHADOWSELF – A little awkward, but hey, it’s now or never.

“Well… I’m an acquaintance of Charles and Magali Delestre. We met recently, and they told me to come here if I wanted to see them again, so that's what I did, but… They're nowhere to be seen and the sun’s setting fast. Could you tell them I'm here?”

THEATRICS – Niiiice.

COMPOSURE – He seems a little thrown off. Looks you up and down. Tilts his head, in an uncanny owl-like fashion. His blonde hair is nearly getting in his mouth.

“Huh. Huuuuuuh. Reaaaally now? Well. I’ll see what I can do for you, ma’am.”

RHETORIC – His elocution has gone from frenzied to almost slurred all of a sudden. And he went from “girlie” and “missy” to “ma’am”.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Well, being high does make some people a liiiittle unpredictable.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – No. That's not it. Something isn't quite right here. You just can’t put your finger on what.

“Lemme ask my colleague. One moment please… HEY! JULIETA! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!”

Taiven startles and so do a bunch of other clients. A waitress in her early thirties and very high heels, an empty tray in hand, quickly turns around.

COMPOSURE – Her face sours as she sees who called upon her.

BLEEDING HEART – “Ugh. Again?”

THE HUNT – All eyes are on you. They’re all staring. This is the worst.

THEATRICS – Nah, this is fine. You're used to attracting attention. They'll forget about you as soon as the show starts!

The waitress huffs, and walks over to the booth. Looks over Taiven, then to her colleague.

“Heinrich, I already told you I don't want to talk to you when you're high on the job,” she huffs.

“Yeaaaah, sorry, but this issss… kind of important. Her ladyship right here…”

THEATRICS – Wow, you’re royalty now.

ASSERTION – Better than “girlie’.

AIM/READY/FIRE – Heinrich gestures in your direction, but his eyes don't really see you.

“Says she’s supposed to meet with… some Charles or Magali… Des Lettres? Rings any bell, Julie?”

THEATRICS – You're sure he heard you right. Why is he mispronouncing their last name?

COMPOSURE – Julieta frowns. From a moment, you feel something shift in the air as they look at each other.

RHETORIC – She stays silent a split second too long. Then, she addresses you directly, in a polite yet dry tone.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, señora, because I've never heard those names before. There's no one here named that. You're welcome to stay and enjoy the show, but I believe you're mistaken. Have a good time.”

Heinrich owl-like eyes gloss over Taiven as he lets out a weird syncopated laugh.

“Sorry, miss!”

Then they both leave her here with her coffee. She drinks, pensively.

SOLLERTIA – Heinrich slaps Julieta’s ass, she slaps his in return without missing a beat, not even blushing.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – You stifle a laugh. Love is in the air.

THICKSKIN – You take a sip of the coffee. Not too warm.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – It's good too. Man, is there a single flaw in this bar?

FOCUS – Yes. The fact that your prime leads are supposedly not here.

THEATRICS – No, they are.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – Janelle may not be on the best terms with you, but she'd never send you on a wrong trail.

THEATRICS – And they were obviously lying. You should stick around here and find out why.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – You weren't planning to do otherwise. Giving up isn't in your vocabulary.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – Even if it sometimes should be.

After a few minutes, the lights dim slightly and the show starts. Someone walks up on stage, wearing a feathered mask covering half their face but sporting a mane of purple hair going down to the floor.

COMPOSURE – Most likely a wig. But it's cool, albeit very cheap-looking.

They introduce themselves as El Penne Izzy and announces the name of the performers, one by one. Seven in total.

SCATTERBRAIN – Haha, El Penne Izzy, Penis-

SMARTASS – Write that down, write that down!

SCATTERBRAIN – What, penis?

SMARTASS – No, the names!

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Aw, man, I really wanted that penis.

HYPERMNESIA – Alright. We have, in order of performance:

– Jocast Traitor

– Sir la Vampyr

– Madri Gal

– Mother Balls

– Kama Fatra

– Charlotte et Coquincinelle (Duo)

– Nick Lémage

RHETORIC – I smell a political statement in that last one.

SCATTERBRAIN – Shhhh! It’s starting!

Jocast Traitor is a drag queen dressed in a long, white and glittery toga with equally long, white and glittery hair and make-up. Her dance is syncopated, the music behind it a little ridiculous, but it seems to be part of the act.

SMARTASS – Paxaikonese inspo! Nice.

Sir la Vampyr is exactly what you'd expect from a drag king named Sir la Vampyr. Dressed all in black, a comically large hat, a weird mustache and extremely long fake fangs.

STREET SMARTS – I think those are actually some kind of paper mache straws?

In any case, all the whirling around of his cape is captivating enough to make the crowd forget his over-the-top horror movie music.

SHADOWSELF – I mean, pipe organs? Really? That's so cliché.

Meanwhile, Madri Gal is a huge, huge queen in a very tiny pink sequined dress.

SENSES (HEARING) – Whistles all around the room.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – You don’t know where your eyes are supposed to land because there is simply too much to look at.

And as it turns out, Mother Balls is not a fitting name for this debuting queen who yet sings like an angel. Her costume has, fittingly, a huge pair of makeshift wings attached to her back. It's all blue instead of white, though.

SCATTERBRAIN – It’s like an opera, but cheaper- Wait is that a pun on blue balls.

Kama Fatra is a young drag king, not older than eighteen, with percussion music and such an energy that the whole room ends up clapping in rythm to his performance.

FEISTY FLESH – You wish you could move your body like that, to be honest. You're pretty flexible, but this kid’s on another level.

Charlotte et Coquincinelle are, as the presentator announced, a duo. One queen and one king, both dressed very a la mode, dancing with some sultry, jazzy music in the back. The crowd cheers when one pulls out a long cigarette and starts smoking it onstage.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – You cheer along with them.

As for the last one, Nick Lémage, they are…

SCATTERBRAIN – Very, huh, avant-gardiste?

SMARTASS – It’s not avant-gardiste. It’s just a half-naked guy declaiming some nonsense poetry on stage. All you can extract from his performance was that he, oh surprise, hates the mages. Bullshit, really.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – A bit underwhelming, but at least he was half-naked.

On that bizarre note, the show ends and the host thanks the audience and blows a kiss before leaving in a fluttering of fake feathers and long purple hair. The crowd erupts into applause as the performers go back to the stage to receive compliments and flowers. Taiven also claps vigorously from her booth.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – God, that was so much fun. Also I think someone just threw a lace thong at them.

THICKSKIN – Fatigue lurks in the corner, but the caffeine is keeping it away. For now.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Ugh… The sun has set, hasn't it? You’ll have to be careful… As soon as the caffeine wears off, I won’t be of much help.

THICKSKIN – You’ll manage.

Each performer is individually called by the others to step forward on the stage so they can all receive their own round of applause. Taiven claps particularly loud for the young Kama Fatra.

SCATTERBRAIN – You know, it's kinda funny.

RHETORIC – What is?

SCATTERBRAIN – Well, that’s two duos with a “Charl” in it tonight.

SMARTASS – Wait. What?

SCATTERBRAIN – Charles and Magali. Charlotte and Coquincinelle. Charles, Charlotte. And both are duos.

SMARTASS – Oh Day above. Okay. This is gonna sound crazy, but I might have a theory.

RHETORIC – … Hold up, you don’t think-

SMARTASS – That Charles and Charlotte are actually the same person? Yes.

COMPOSURE – What? Come on, that's crazy. You can’t be serious. Just because they have similar names doesn’t mean they're the same person.

THEATRICS – It’s a drag show, and you know Julieta and Heinrich have been lying to you earlier about not knowing Charles and Magali. What would be so crazy about them actually being a drag duo?

COMPOSURE – But that's just conjecture! And a far-fetched one, too.

SMARTASS – Is it really?

FOCUS – Only one way to find out.

STREET SMARTS – Time to sneak backstage, girl.

BLEEDING HEART– What? Absolutely not! You’re not allowed there!

THE HUNT – It’s dangerous.

STREET SMARTS – Come on, think about it. You have everything needed to defend yourself in your pouch and your fists.

THICKSKIN – And you’re not that tired yet.

SHADOWSELF – If you're so afraid of getting caught, you can always just ask if you can go there first.

BLEEDING HEART – But you told Ian you were gonna play it safe!

SHADOWSELF – And you are. Just watch.

Taiven picks up her cup and walks up to the counter. Gordianus is chatting with some clients near the stage, Mayumi seems to be fixing some lights, Julieta is taking order and Bilal is nowhere to be seen. The only one behind the bar is Heinrich.

SCATTERBRAIN – The owl.

THE HUNT – Owl are predators of the night.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – He's still high, although he seems a little less assured than when you last saw him. Is someone teetering on the edge of a crash?

COMPOSURE – He grins at you with that weird tilt of the head regardless.

“Welcome back, your highness. Enjoy your coffee?”

ASSERTION – Still at it with the nicknames, huh?

SHADOWSELF – Let’s see if you can use his own quirk against him.

“Very much. Thanks, sweetheart.”

COMPOSURE – He does something akin to a half-blink. Then smiles from ear to ear.

BLEEDING HEART – It’s not often clients match his vibe. Most of them are creeped out by his behavior.

ASSERTION – Gee, I wonder why.

“My my, you sure know how to speak to waiters, milady. What more can your humble servant do for you tonight?”

RHETORIC – He’s talking more clearly now that he has a focus point.

SHADOWSELF – You lean forward against the counter, chin in hand, propped up against your elbow, and smile back.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Congratulations! His focus point is now your cleavage!

SHADOWSELF – You’ll make him eat in the palm of your hand.

“Heinrich! What are you slacking off for?!’

The young waiter startles as the click of heels resounds and stops behind the counter with a whiff of smoke and a flutter of dark hair.

“Hi again, señora. Is my colleague bothering you?”

STREET SMARTS – Shoot, Julieta’s back.

SHADOWSELF – Doesn't matter. You got this.

SCATTERBRAIN – Uh, how so?

SHADOWSELF – Can't you see? She's avoiding your gaze. More specifically, she avoids looking directly at you. At the very exposed skin on your chest.

COMPOSURE – She may look aloof, but it seems you’re not leaving her indifferent.

SHADOWSELF – At some point during the show, Heinrich Ferstl and Julieta Aguilar stared at you from behind the counter. The boy teased, “So, are you gonna talk to her or what, Julie? I know you think she's hot”, the woman replied dryly, “I'm on the job”. “So you do want to talk to her?” “Get off my case, pendejo. I don't like nosy clients or nosy colleagues.” “Well, in that case, this one’s mine!”

SMARTASS – Huh. Is that really what you think happened?

SHADOWSELF – Oh yes, I'm sure.

“No, he wasn't bothering me at all! We were having a pretty pleasant conversation, in fact. What about you, Julieta? You seem flushed. Do I perhaps have a part to play in this?”

Julieta’s head swivels to Taiven, mouth open as if to defend herself, then stops dead in her tracks, her empty tray still in hand.

RHETORIC – Caught off-guard by you adressing her by name.

SHADOWSELF – What a cutie. Trying so, so hard to look you in the eyes and not anywhere else.

COMPOSURE – She’s clearly flustered. Doesn’t know where to put herself.

ASSERTION – You’re the one in control here.

“Well, I… It’s… No, uh, I'm…”

“It's okay,” Taiven says sweetly, “I’m not mad. You can stare all you like. And, who knows…”

SHADOWSELF – Your hand slowly crawls across the counter, your rings clinking against each other. You brush your fingers against a long, loose strand of brown hair. Julieta sees you do it more than she feels it.

COMPOSURE – Her breath hitches.

“I might even let you see more, if you ask nicely.”

COMPOSURE – She gasps, reddens and stutters all at once. No trace of the gruffiness she displayed earlier.

“I- Hum- I… I n-need to get back to work.”

She grabs a few drinks, almost blindly, and skitters off to go serve her clients, tucking her hair behind her ear.

THE HUNT – Like a cat running away from the rings of a snake.

BLEEDING HEART – Did you scare her off?

SHADOWSELF – Are you kidding? She liked the attention. She could scarcely believe her luck, have you seen her face?

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – You sent delightful shivers down your own spine with this, babe.

SHADOWSELF – The night may diminish you, but you're still going strong.

SENSES (HEARING) – A whistle.

Heinrich has leaned down on his elbow as well, his face now very close to Taiven’s.

“Daaaamn. You sent my Julie flying over the moon with that.”

SENSES (SMELL) – His breath is a mix of bubblegum and something sour, pungeant. Not really pleasant, but you’ve seen worse.

Taiven chuckles.

“Well, I could send you over the moon too, if you wanna. But… I’m all for equivalent exchanges, you see.”

Heinrich raises an eyebrow, his cheeks a little redder.

COMPOSURE – He wasn’t expecting you to be so straightforward.

“Huh-uh. I’m all ears, milady.”

RHETORIC – Color him intrigued.

“Well, if you could… I don’t know…”

SHADOWSELF – You slide your hand on his hand. Up on his forearm. His shoulder.

“Grant me access backstage…”

SHADOWSELF – On his cheek. Softly.

SOLLERTIA – It's hot under your fingers.

SHADOWSELF – He leans into your palm. Smiling. Your thumb strokes his skin, gently.

“Then maybe we could make some kind of deal. What do you say, Heinrich?"

“Hmm… Well…”

He turns his head to the side. Just a little.

NERVES – Enough for his mouth and hair to graze your palm and-

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – HOLY SHIT. THIS? THIS IS THE GOOD STUFF.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – You’re still married, by the way. Still married. Yup. Very happily married, might I add. Married as in wed. Religiously. Under the eyes of Day.

“I meaaan, if it’s just that… Then sure, I can show you the backdoor. Can I ask why, though? I thought you’d ask something more… scandalous.”

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – You know, like to make him see a thousand heavens on that counter.

ASSERTION – Pfff. In his dreams, maybe.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – And yours.

“Oh, I just want to give my compliments to the performers… But I knew I’m not allowed backstage, so I thought… Why not ask the cute boy and have fun while I'm at it?”

Heinrich has a pleased little giggle, clearly playing along with it.

“Y’know what? I like your style. There’s a door here that leads backstage.”

He points at a door behind a thick curtain, in a little enclave space next to a staircaise.

“You can go through here, I'll cover for you.”

SOLLERTIA – He swiftly takes your other hand, the one that isn't cradling his face, and kisses it.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Tonight is FIRE.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – STILL. MARRIED.

“Be careful, milady. It's a wild world out there.”

Then, he lets go, and happily waves Taiven goodbye with a little wink.

“Don’t be a stranger, aye?”

She winks back, and then walks as casually as she can to the door.

THE HUNT – You’ll be a stranger as soon as you can, actually.

SHADOWSELF – These things are never meant to last.

STREET SMARTS – But you got what you needed! Great job!

As soon as she closes the door, the sound of the club is immediately muffled. A long, narrow hallway with white walls lit by pale light bulbs stretches ahead of her.

SCATTERBRAIN – Creepy.

SENSES (HEARING) – It's weird being in silence all of a sudden.

THE HUNT – It’s weird that it’s this silent. There should be more noise, with the performers backstage. They can't have already left.

SOLLERTIA – You reach into your pouch and keep your hand on the pocket knife.

STREET SMARTS – Move with caution. If anyone’s here, they’re not expecting you, and surprised people can react violently.

FEISTY FLESH – So can you.

She proceeds down the hallway. There’s a few cardboard boxes filled with various shiny accessories, old posters and clothing racks piled up around, sometimes up to the ceilings. Then some brightly-painted doors come into view.

SMARTASS – Lodges.

SCATTERBRAIN – Lodges full of secrets.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – A weird feeling washes over you. A sense of deja-vu.

HYPERMNESIA – Maybe you… No, you have been here before. You're sure of that now. But when? Why can't you remember?

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Hey, don’t look at me!

SENSES (HEARING) – Wait- What's that? Voices?

STREET SMARTS – One of the door's slightly ajar. There's light inside.

Taiven approaches carefully, with slow steps, trying to eavesdrop on what is clearly a conversation.

SENSES (HEARING) – They speak in a hushed tone. You can't make out anything. Maybe if you get closer-

THE HUNT – Found you, hisses the cat as its claws sink into the rat's fur.

REFLEXES – WATCH OUT!

AIM/READY/FIRE – Damn it-

Before the Gaikamshigthai has had the time to fully turn around, the palm of a hand pushes her on the back, and she stumbles forwards. Into the room.

FEISTY FLESH – You manage to catch yourself on your feet before falling-

SENSES (SIGHT) – But you can't make out anything before the lights go out.

A door slams behind her, followed by an ominous click. She rushes back towards it, grips the knob in her hand and tries to turn it.

SOLLERTIA – Nothing.

FEISTY FLESH – You keep pushing with all your strength. You can’t be defeated by a stupid doorknob…

SOLLERTIA – … No dice. It won’t budge. You're locked in here.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – Trapped in the dark. Alone. Or not alone. Which is worse.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – …

The sun has risen at its highest in the sky, and Taiven’s bike comes to a halt in front of the People's Party Headquarters. The building is large, almost town-hall like, made of white stone and with a huge red banner with a white flower hung around the large door to the yard. Inside, people can be seen running around the corridors on several stories.

SCATTERBRAIN – It's nothing like the district office. It's a hive.

HYPERMNESIA – This is where you first became an adherent, back in 189. Your hands were shaking when you asked for a membership card. You had stolen from your parents’ cash register to pay the fee. Either they never found out or they chose to ignore it.

COMPOSURE – 2:45 pm. You're on time.

Taiven parks her bike in the backyard, secures it with a lock. She walks in, the receptionist lifts her head.

COMPOSURE – Her tired eyes squint at your entrance.

BLEEDING HEART – She recognizes you, and not in a good way.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – Yolanda Rodriguez woke up this morning with a terrible headache. Had to dress up her youngest kids for school, her eldest is fifteen and giving her trouble. It’s never been the same since his father passed away during the war. He’s never quite gotten accustomed to his stepdad, either.

HYPERMNESIA – You heard her mutter something under her breath about the Markhovs once.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – She thinks you’re too loud and obnoxious.

THEATRICS – Which isn't really wrong.

SHADOWSELF – Show that you remember her.

SENSES (SIGHT) – Hey, look in her bun! That's a rose hairpin.

SCATTERBRAIN – Pretty...

“Hi, Yolanda,” Taiven says with a smile. “You look great today! Nice hairpin.”

COMPOSURE – Her sour face cracks a little with surprise.

STREET SMARTS – That hairpin was probably the only nice thing she had the time to put on this morning.

BLEEDING HEART – She’s a little happy someone noticed.

“Thanks, Mrs Markhov. Have a good day.”

RHETORIC – That's as amicable as she'll get with you, but at least she won’t pry as to why you’re here.

Taiven walks past the reception and into the offices, buzzing with activity.

THE HUNT – No one is paying attention to your entrance. Make a beeline for Janelle’s office.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – You know where it is by now.

Taiven carefully zigzags between the people and the machines and the office desks before heading up huge marble stairs and into the first floor hallway.

AIM/READY/FIRE – You bump into several people on your way to the office. Proprioception isn’t your strong suit.

THE HUNT – Lucky for you, all of them seem to have more important business than yelling at you for being careless.

The office is at the very end of the hallway. A plaque on it reads “Janelle Venegas - secretary”.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – She was a mere adherent when you two met.

HYPERMNESIA – Nearly eight years ago.

Taiven inhales slowly, readies her fist to knock.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Hey. Breathe. You’ll be fine.

THE HUNT – But what if-

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – Remember. Fast tap. Not a clear knock. You know how terrifying those are.

SOLLERTIA – You knock. A fast tapping.

SCATTERBRAIN – Knockknockknockknockknockknocknock.

“Yes, Mr Presgella, one moment, please!”

PARTI DU PEUPLE – Right. Dlawenn booked the appointment under his name.

The door opens on a young woman. Small stature, medium-lenght blonde iron-curled hair, greenish eyes, a tan birthmark on the cheek. Her blazer is neatly ironed, so is her skirt, and her moccasin are absolutely spotless.

BLEEDING HEART – Her face, however, is marked by stress, frustration and lack of sleep underneath the perfect make-up.

HYPERMNESIA – Janelle Venegas. Twenty-five years old. Her family was deported during the war for being openly communist. She was saved and hidden by the Resistance.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – She was promoted to secretary back in 193, right before you got married.

SHADOWSELF – She is what most people would consider pretty.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – She’s hot as fuck, you mean.

FOCUS – Ahem. She has a diamond engagement ring on her finger.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – Future Mrs Marques.

NERVES – For some reason, you feel a little annoyed by that fact.

COMPOSURE – She freezes in the doorway. Looks you up and down. Then you can see realization dawn on her face.

THEATRICS – You’ve duped her.

BLEEDING HEART – Disbelief. Anger. And a tinge of panic.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – “Dlawenn. I trusted you.”

She shakes her head, her blonde locks moving along with it.

“Ugh, I can't deal with this right now.”

STREET SMARTS – SHE’S CLOSING THE DOOR!!

REFLEXES – STOP HER. NOW.

AIM/READY/FIRE – ON IT.

SOLLERTIA – Wait no don’t-

REFLEXES – I’m sorry, it's the only way.

FEISTY FLESH – Go for it, NOW.

Taiven lunges at the door, grips the frame with her left hand.

“Janelle, wait-”

The wooden door violently slams on her poor fingers.

NERVES – OW OW OW FUCK HELL BLOODY FUCKING SHIT-

SOLLERTIA – YOUR FINGERS!!

THICKSKIN – Come on, don’t be a-

NERVES – SHIT FUCK GOD FUCKING DAMMIT-

COMPOSURE – You grit your teeth and try to swallow down tears. They start gathering in your eyes nonetheless.

THICKSKIN – Fucking hell, it isn’t that ba-

NERVES – DAY ABOVE YOU SON OF A BITCH WHY DID YOU DO THAT FUCK THIS FUCK EVERYTHING SHITDAMMIT-

FEISTY FLESH – Have to say, your commitment to this is quite admirable.

NERVES – WHAT GOOD IS YOUR FUCKING “COMMITMENT” DOING RIGHT NOW-

SOLLERTIA – The door suddenly lifts off your fingers. Release at last!

NERVES – THANK GOD.

Janelle stands there, looking absolutely dumbfounded.

“I- What- Why would you do that?!”

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – For your gorgeous eyes.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – For justice.

THEATRICS – Hey. You could exploit this a little. You'd just have to stop holding back your tears.

RHETORIC – I see what you’re doing. Smart.

COMPOSURE – It isn’t… Ugh, fine. Tears start flowing down your face. It’s surprisingly easy.

NERVES – BECAUSE. IT. HURTS.

THEATRICS – Can you put in a little sob for good measure?

COMPOSURE – …

THEATRICS – Pleaaase? Pretty please?

COMPOSURE – A pathetic little sob wracks your shoulders. Happy?

BLEEDING HEART – Janelle’s eyes widen. Guilt starts filling them.

SHADOWSELF – Whatever you're doing, it’s working.

THE HUNT – She looks around the hallway.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – People are not paying attention to you… Yet.

THEATRICS – Can you-

COMPOSURE – Yes, you sob a little louder.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Something in Janelle gives in.

“I- Oh, for god’s sake, just come in already!”

She joins the gesture to the word and grabs Taiven’s arm to pull her in and slam the door behind her.

FOCUS – The office is small but well-lit, with huge windows and a nice view. The desk is neatly organized, the typewriter clean and the fax machine brand new. A small TV stands in the far corner. Colorful pencils and pens fill the holders. There’s even a little cactus.

SCATTERBRAIN – Its name is the Destroyer of Realms.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – Its name is actually Prick.

SCATTERBRAIN – The smallest prick in those headquarters.

THEATRICS – Mission complete. You can stop crying now.

COMPOSURE – As a matter of fact, you can’t.

NERVES – I-It just hurts so fucking much.

THICKSKIN – You really are just a crybaby. You've been through way worse.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Hey, at least you didn't damage your ring!

Janelle drags Taiven to a chair, forces her to sit and leans down to inspect her fingers. The Gaikamshigthai winces, the secretary grits her teeth.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Her fingers. On yours.

NERVES – It hurts!!

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – You might be into that.

THICKSKIN – Yeah, uh, you're not. Or like. Not a lot. I hope.

“Why would you… Ugh, nevermind, just wait here.”

She goes to rummage through a minifridge situated behind her desk and pulls out an ice pack, that she delicately places on Taiven’s hand.

“There. Twenty minutes. Should prevent the swelling.”

NERVES – I suggest we all start worshipping the almighty Ice Pack Provider right now.

SOLLERTIA – It does feel good.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Hey, she’s really close to you and she smells real nice.

SENSES (SMELL) – Expensive perfume. Lily of the Valley.

SMARTASS – Probably a gift from Anthony.

COMPOSURE – Ahem. You’ve stopped crying.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – That's great! About time!

“Thanks,” Taiven says, repressing a sniffle.

Janelle sits at her desk, crosses her arms and huffs.

FEISTY FLESH – She's stressed out. Uncomfortable. She'd much rather be working at her open space desk downstairs, but appointments deserve an office.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) – Now that you mention it, this office does seem a little too neat. It's probably unused most of the time.

SOLLERTIA – Explains the low-maintenance plant.

“You’re welcome. Taiven, what on earth are you doing here?”

RHETORIC – Oh, she's pissed.

BLEEDING HEART – Can’t really blame her.

RHETORIC – Get straight to the point. Her patience runs in short supply today.

“I’m here because I need your help.”

Janelle raises a doubtful eyebrow.

“You… needed my help… so you made someone else book an appointment for you and then showed up unannounced at the headquarters?”

RHETORIC – Of course, when you put it like that…

“You're lucky that Anthony’s upstairs. He’s been on and on about Saturday’s meeting.”

THE HUNT – Nervousness in her tone.

BLEEDING HEART – And a hint of resentment.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – You're everywhere. Like a pipe leaking into her fiancé’s mind. Like poison.

ASSERTION – Awww, did the poor baby not take your interventions very well?

“What, he's still sore about me speaking up, which is my first right as an adherent?” Taiven sneers.

RHETORIC – Maybe not the best thing to say to someone you want help from.

ASSERTION – Screw that. If Anthony has a problem with you, let’s settle it face-to-face.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Chill out! You can't let the thought of that asshole rile you up. You have an important task at hand.

Janelle frowns, but sighs reluctantly.

“I guess you could say that. But let’s keep this short. What do you need me for?”

RHETORIC – She wants this to be over as fast as possible. So do you. Be smart about this.

“Do you know anything about a new adherent? A certain… Tristan Hawthorne?”

THEATRICS – Fake hesitation. Perfect. That’ll help us corner her later.

COMPOSURE – She tries to keep her features smooth, but she’s not good at it. Worry is visible in her entire demeanor.

NERVES – The name stirs something unpleasant in her.

“... No. I don’t know of every person who joins the Party. Do you have any idea of how high the number is?”

SMARTASS – Not precisely, but you know it’s like, kind of huge.

THEATRICS – However! She’s lying.

RHETORIC – And why would she lie, if not to hide that she knows something?

“Really? That's a shame. I assume you wouldn't know of his wife either?”

COMPOSURE – Janelle visibly tenses up, gripping her hands together.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – Who here doesn’t know Charity Hawthorne?

SMARTASS – You, apparently.

“What’s your deal with them?” she asks, defensively.

THEATRICS – Stopped playing dumb, have we?

“Me? Oh, I'm just curious. I've heard a lot about Mrs Hawthorne, I thought you could enlighten me.”

SMARTASS – Janelle may not be that clever, but she’s far from stupid. No one books an appointment just because they're curious, not even you.

SOLLERTIA – They also don’t get their fingers crushed over it.

THEATRICS – But she still can't figure out where exactly this is going.

“I don’t know anything,” Janelle replies hastily. “You should leave, Taiven. Anthony might come in any minute and I don’t want him to see you here.”

RHETORIC – Because if he does, she’ll never hear the end of it.

SCATTERBRAIN – That boy’s like a broken record.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – On the fourth floor of the building, Anthony Marques is neck-deep in a meeting with his partisans. “You have to assert yourself, Marques,” one hammers. “If you keep getting ridiculed by the Markhov bitch, you'll never get a seat in Parliament!” A woman sighs, “You’re lucky your popularity’s still looking pretty high, but that could change any moment. Stop going to public speaking events hands-in-pockets like your position’s granted. You lack preparation.” Anthony grits his teeth. “But she-” “Gods, Marques, stop being so obssessed with that girl! It’s the seat you need. She's just a speck of dust in your way. Brush it off. The more importance you give her, the more she’ll have room to crush you. She’s a non-mage, why would she ever be a threat?”

SMARTASS – I think the little bitchlord is busy at the moment.

THE HUNT – It would be bad if he did see you here, though.

RHETORIC – Be efficient about this.

“Janelle, I don’t need that much. Just to see a videotape of whatever meeting where Charity Hawthorne took the stand.”

The secretary’s eyes refuse to look into hers.

“I’m not really supposed to show the tapes to random adherents.”

THEATRICS – Got her.

“So you do have one.”

Janelle blinks.

“What?”

“A videotape of Charity Hawthorne’s speech.”

COMPOSURE – Color drains from her face as she realizes her slip-up.

“I- What difference does that make?! I can’t just show it to anybody, especially not you!”

“Why especially not me?”

“Because Anthony-”

She stops herself short. Straightens her back, a defiant glint in her eyes.

COMPOSURE – Trying to regain some sort of control.

SOLLERTIA – Fidgeting with her ring. Just like Tristan.

“It doesn’t matter. Go home, Taiven. Please.”

BLEEDING HEART – It’s supposed to sound firm, but if anything, it’s more of a plea.

ASSERTION – Stand your ground. Keep pushing her. You’re getting there.

SHADOWSELF – Welp, no choice. Janelle cares a lot about doing what's right, deep down, and you know it. Pull at her heartstrings.

HYPERMNESIA – “It’s just awful, Lia. How can they let this go? Someone died because of this smuggling and no one cares because the owner of the warehouse has a seat in Parliament and didn't want bad publicity? How could anyone…”

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Um, I don’t know. This feels wrong.

THE HUNT – She used you. What's so wrong about using her back?

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – It’s not who you are.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – Or is it?

SHADOWSELF – You’ve done far worse than that.

Taiven leans a little closer, putting her elbows on the desk, with her most serious expression.

“Janelle. This, and I mean it, this could help me save Tristan Hawthorne.”

The secretary takes some time before answering.

“Save him… From what?”

BLEEDING HEART – That stirred her worry.

“From whom. Charity. I have good reasons to think that she’s abusing him.”

“Really? Tristan is…”

RHETORIC – First-name basis? Interesting.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – They've met before. Never spoke, but saw each other enough for that. Maybe at some… unofficial dinners.

SMARTASS – Corruption?

PARTI DU PEUPLE – Wouldn't be the first time.

“There’s been signs,” Taiven continues, keeping it vague. “I need to know what kind of person Charity is. And I think this tape might be necessary. Don’t you want to help Tristan out?”

“I…”

SOLLERTIA – Fidgeting with her ring again.

THEATRICS – She isn’t doubting you for a second here. Isn’t that weird?

PARTI DU PEUPLE – She knows, deep down, that you're trustworthy. And that you’re always, always serious about these kinds of things.

BLEEDING HEART – But Tristan makes her uncomfortable, you can tell.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – He reminds him too much of herself. It’s painful. She'd rather cover her eyes.

SHADOWSELF – Come on. She's about to crack. Go all out.

Taiven slowly reaches out her free hand to place it softly on top of Janelle’s. The young secretary startles a little, but this time her eyes remain on Taiven’s face.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Oooooh, daring.

“Nellie. Please. If not for him, for me.”

SHADOWSELF – Nickname. Perfect.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Kind of a low blow, really.

SHADOWSELF – Who cares? It works.

COMPOSURE – It does. Conflictual feelings wash over Janelle’s face as she glances between your face, your hand on hers, and a box on the shelves behind her. Then, she sighs, massages her temple.

“... Fine. Fine, I'll play it for you. But only once, you hear me?”

SHADOWSELF – Got her. Hook, line, and sinker.

BLEEDING HEART – The nickname got her. Reminded her of some good times.

HYPERMNESIA – September 15th, 189. You walk into the offices on the ground floor, your brand new membership card in hand, since you were allowed to take a look. A girl about your age, short blonde hair and a birthmark on the cheek, is walking in with a coffee cup and approaches you with a smile. “Hi! Um, I'm sorry if this sounds weird, but I saw you get your badge delivered from over here, and you looked cold, so I thought I’d get you a cup. It’s not prime quality, but it does the work.” You took it, blinking.

BLEEDING HEART – You weren’t that used to kindness from strangers.

SHADOWSELF – Much less from pretty, popular-looking ones.

HYPERMNESIA – She smiled and extended a hand. “I'm Janelle Venegas, but most people call me Nellie. What about you? What's your name?” You swallowed.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – Swallowed the truth.

HYPERMNESIA – “Thalia Kellermann.” You shook hands. Hers were warm from holding the cup she’d just given you. “Hmm… I should probably call you comrade Kellermann, then, but that's a little too formal. Thalia, Thalia… Can I call you Lia? Is Lia okay with you?”

ASSERTION – She was much more outgoing and talkative then.

BLEEDING HEART– She didn't like it when you changed your name back.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – But you had to.

“Thank you. Really.”

“Don’t mention it,” Janelle grumbles before standing up and opening the box she was glancing at. She rummages through it for a few seconds before pulling out a tape.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) – The date is… “something/something/194”. Sorry, that's the best I can do.

SMARTASS – So that was from two years ago. Recent enough.

Janelle walks up to the TV and gestures for Taiven to come over before sliding the tape into the dusty cassette player. The Gaikamshigthai stands up, with her ice pack still pressed on her now numb fingers.

“... I’m gonna play it. Ready?”

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – A strange form of gravity laces her words. Maybe you should backtrack-

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Nuh-uh. You’re not giving up, not after all of this shit.

SCATTERBRAIN – The sacrifice of your fingers shall not be in vain!

“Ready.”

SOLLERTIA – She slowly presses PLAY, then takes a step back.

FOCUS – After a little static, a picture of a people-filled stadium comes into view. The sky is heavy with clouds and most people are wearing summer clothes, short-sleeved and made of light fabric. They’re cheering.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) – Good video quality.

SOLLERTIA – Probably filmed with a magic camera? Magic cameras are a little more advanced.

SMARTASS – Electronic ones are starting to catch up, though.

FOCUS – The first few minutes are pretty uninteresting. A bunch of speakers, more or less acclaimed. Until the spokesperson announces, “Now, please welcome Mrs Charity Hawthorne to the stand!”

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Wow. This is the most lukewarm applause you've ever heard.

FOCUS – A woman walks on stage. Zoom-in. Tall, deep-green hair cut short, very fancy suit, dark eyes, lips pressed into a thin line. Skinny build. Late twenties.

SHADOWSELF – There's some charm to her.

SMARTASS – Well, duh. Otherwise she wouldn't be a politician.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – I mean, if every politician looked at least this good…

FOCUS – She clears her throat.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) – An uneasy chatter runs through the crowd.

“People of the Party, Party of the People, it's with great honor than I stand before you once more. I was pleasantly surprised to see that many of you have called for me to come back here. And beyond grateful.”

SMARTASS – So that wasn't her first speech. The second, most likely.

BLEEDING HEART – That crowd looks very unconvinced.

THEATRICS – She speaks the truth, though. The people did ask for her.

RHETORIC – But what kind of people, exactly?

“These are dark times. Each day that passes, the divide in our city grows deeper and deeper. You all know which divide I speak of: the mages and the non-mages.”

SMARTASS – Hold up. Isn’t she a mage?

HYPERMNESIA – Dlawenn did say she was a radical, so maybe…

“As mages, we have a duty to help the lesser abled and stand on equal ground with them. However, it seems that powerful mages nowadays are only interested in two things, forming those makeshift oligarchic clubs they call “political Cliques” and keeping their privileges and money to themselves. The non-mages can only stare from below and watch the nation fall to ruins with their living conditions.”

THEATRICS – Wow, she sure doesn’t mince her words.

THE HUNT – It’s dangerous. To call out the Cliques like that.

RHETORIC – Hum, is not one going to talk about the fact that she said “lesser abled” to talk about non-mages? It was drowned in the rest of her words, but it was there.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – Yes. Something is definitely not adding up.

PERCEPTION (HEARING) – The stadium is dead silent, except for her voice.

“Dear comrades, contrary to popular belief, magic is not something you are born with or without. It’s something you have to train. A potential you should cultivate. So what if, what if… Magic was made more accessible?”

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – So she means non-mages can have access to magic remedies? Magic services? Mixed schools?

RHETORIC – No. I don't think so. And I don't like where this is heading.

“It's simple, really. What good is magic that only a few people master? What if everyone… And I mean everyone could be a mage?”

THEATRICS – The crowd stands there. Dumbfounded. Waiting for her to elaborate. So are you.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – She's exalted. They all listen.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – That reminds you of someone. Something. Impending doom.

HYPERMNESIA – “Are we gonna die?”

“It'd be slow, of course. Non-mages would have to enroll into special programs, special training facilities, to avoid influence. Cliques would have to be overseen by the state. But imagine what Encre would look like if every single one of its citizens was a mage! Better productions, better schools… A better army. Everything we never were and everything we need to be. We could take it all back. Encre is a glorious country and we could make its population just as glorious… If we only tried.”

PERCEPTION (HEARING) – Silence. Deafening. Then a slow clap. Then another. Then a whole part of the stadium bursts into-

SOLLERTIA – It all stops. Janelle took the tape out.

“... I think you've seen enough.”

Taiven remains silent. Eyes fixed on the empty screen.

THEATRICS – … What the fuck was that?!

RHETORIC – Concentration camps. That’s what she means by “training facilities.” Concentration camps.

THEATRICS – She’s nuts. That woman’s completely nuts!!

SMARTASS – No. She isn’t. That's the problem.

BLEEDING HEART – Janelle seems a little sorry that you had to see this.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – It was probably worse for her. She was behind that camera two years ago.

SOLLERTIA – With no button to stop the tape from running.

“Are you okay, Taiven?”

RHETORIC – “You did ask to see it.” She doesn't say “Told you so” but it’s written all over her voice.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – … Yes. Yes, you'll be fine.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – You will be. But for now, you're not.

THICKSKIN – You feel nauseous. Like you’re gonna puke.

SHADOWSELF – Hey! Remember what we said about not throwing up on people’s shoes again?!

“I… I don’t know how anyone could be fine after seeing this.”

Janelle simply nods, guides Taiven back to her chair and sits down next to her this time. Not behind her office desk.

BLEEDING HEART – She can’t help but feel compassion for you now. She thought it'd feel good to see you that way, as a sort of petty revenge, but it doesn’t.

SOLLERTIA – She hesitates before patting you on the back, slowly.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – It does help a little.

The secretary sighs.

“I don't blame you. That’s why I didn't want to get you involved. She's… always been like this.”

ASSERTION – How come this hasn’t gotten her arrested yet? Or lynched?

SMARTASS – That's right. The treaty of Xofu-Nandong has been very clear, if an extremist party was ever to emerge, the allied forces would intervene themselves.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – And then it would all start again. Over, and over, and over, and…

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Breathe. In. Out. You need to think clearly.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – She hasn't been arrested yet because she's a mage. An asset. And you've heard the applause. There are people who think like her.

“Janelle… Do you… agree with her?”

“No.”

RHETORIC – The answer rang loud and clear.

“I agree that magic is useful, but I don't think being born a non-mage is a mistake, either. Some people just shouldn’t be mages. I mean look at you, Taiven, you can barely control yourself as it is, I wouldn't dare to imagine what you'd be like with powers!”

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Hey, rude.

RHETORIC – It might be true, but there’s nicer ways to say it…

ASSERTION – She’s got some principles. You might not agree on a whole lot of things, but you can respect that.

“Gee, thanks. But, moving on…”

Taiven leans back into her chair and sighs.

“I was right to be worried. Tristan's a non-mage. If she applies her ideas to her personal life, I can't imagine what she does to him when no one’s looking.”

COMPOSURE – Janelle becomes livid.

“... Shit. You’re right.”

RHETORIC – She rarely swears, but the situation calls for it.

“Ugh… This is why I hate arranged marriages,” she mutters. “At least I had a choice.”

SOLLERTIA – Fidgeting with her ring. Again.

NERVES – Always does when she's nervous. It's the third time since the beginning of the discussion.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – She thinks about Anthony.

THE HUNT – She’s scared of him.

BLEEDING HEART – She loves him.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – It’s the worst part.

FEISTY FLESH – But she’ll be fine. He doesn't beat her.

THE HUNT – Yet.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – And when he'll start, no one will care. Because he is a mage, and she isn't.

FEISTY FLESH – A dull anger fills your lungs.

HYPERMNESIA – Pitiful stares. "Poor thing. Such a waste of a pretty face."

“I knew Charity was… Well, peculiar. But if she does what you suspect she does to Tristan…”

She lifts her head to look at Taiven.

“What are you going to do now?”

SMARTASS – Now? You’ve had a good overview of what Charity is like. You should-

FEISTY FLESH – Find her address, walk up there and punch all the air out of her rotten lungs.

THE HUNT – No. Absolutely not. No direct contact with someone like her. She might be dangerous.

ASSERTION – Also, pretty sure that'd be considered a break-in.

THICKSKIN – And she's a mage. You’d be no match for her.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – You also promised Ian you were going to investigate safely.

RHETORIC – Technically, you didn't promise anything, but-

FOCUS – You need testimonies. Someone who'd be willing to give you anonymous info that you can hand to the police later.

THE HUNT – But what kind of mouse would be willing to face a lion?

“I… I need testimonies. Someone other than Tristan who could testify on his behalf. But… Yeah, I don't think there’s anyone like that,” Taiven sighs.

She slowly gets up from her chair, putting down the ice pack on the desk.

“Thanks for humoring me, Janelle. I'll need to look deeper into this. See what I can do.”

“Taiven, wait.”

The secretary slowly takes her left wrist.

SOLLERTIA – Taking a look at your fingers.

“Hm. It’s a little red, but I don’t think they’re broken, and it hasn't swollen too much… You should be good to go.”

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Anthony must have all of this. All of the soft touches of fingers on skin and more.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Unwarranted.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Oh, cut the crap. You know what you wanted then.

BLEEDING HEART – You were friends. Before Anthony came along.

THE HUNT – You weren't friends. Never were. She ditched you as soon as he came into the picture.

SCATTERBRAIN – And lost her spark.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Ah, jealousy.

COMPOSURE – Don’t pay that one any mind. You weren't jealous. Why would you even be?

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – You could have treated her so much better. That's what you always thought.

THEATRICS – Shut up.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Why? I'm always honest with you. You’re always lying to yourself, I'm the only one who doesn’t buy into your little self-righteous act. And right now I'm telling you that her fingers on yours are making you feel weird.

COMPOSURE – Stop it. It's not like that. You don't have feelings towards her. That’d be ridiculous.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Oh, I'm not talking about feelings, those are a little faded now. No, if we’re talking about feelings, then… Well. You know who you have feelings for.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – No, you don’t, and you don’t need to know. You don’t have feelings for anybody.

SHADOWSELF – You don’t do feelings. You don’t deserve feelings.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – It’s not about what you deserve or don’t deserve, it's about priorities! And your priorities should be, in order, your family, helping out Tristan, and the Party.

SCATTERBRAIN – Hum, what about Toshiki?

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – I said “family”, didn’t I?

SCATTERBRAIN – Oh. Oh! Yes! Makes sense!

FOCUS – Alright. You know what you should do?

SMARTASS – Oooh is it what I think it is?

SCATTERBRAIN – Please not-

FOCUS – A checklist.

SMARTASS – FUCK YEAH! CHECKLIST!

SCATTERBRAIN – Nooooo… Not again… Whyyy? Why can't you just, I don't know, go with the flow?

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Because you need to be a respectable member of society and being respectable member of society is incredibly, utterly, indeniably boring.

FOCUS – No, you need to get your priorities straight for maximum efficiency.

COMPOSURE – I agree, but could you run that in the background? I think you've been staring off into space for a good three minutes and Janelle seems concerned.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Still holding your hand, by the way!

“... ven. Taiven? Say something.”

NERVES – Yeah, uh, let me reboot that real quick.

Taiven startles as a sudden shudder shakes her, and she repeatedly blinks, vision finally coming back into focus.

“Yes! Yes, sorry, you were saying?”

“Um, nothing in particular, you were just… really silent. And your eyes were unfocused, you seemed... elsewhere. I was afraid you were having a panic attack.”

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Oh, right. The silent ones.

HYPERMNESIA – Those episodes used to be pretty common for you, back in the day. She stayed with you through a few of them.

BLEEDING HEART – It’s not the panic attack that scares her.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – It’s where you go when you leave.

THE HUNT – You've seen that expression before. Those eyes. The frown. Trying to reach you when you disappear inside your own mind.

SCATTERBRAIN – The flames in the dark.

COMPOSURE – You breathe in, slowly, straighten your back.

“Don’t worry, Nellie. I’m good. A little lost in thought is all.”

“Are you sure? You should remain seated a little if you don’t feel well…”

RHETORIC – What happened to “you should leave as soon as possible”?

NERVES – It hurts when she's being nice to you like that.

ASSERTION – You don’t need her pity.

“No, really, I'm fine.”

Taiven gets up slowly, just in case.

THICKSKIN – You feel okay. Not great, but okay. No dizziness, no pain, no tunnel vision, you're good to go.

Janelle stands still for a second before rushing to her desk, scribbling something on a piece of paper and shoving it into Taiven's hand.

“Here. If you're looking for testimonies. It might not be much but it's a start.”

BLEEDING HEART – She can’t believe what she's doing right now.

COMPOSURE – Neither can you.

“Wow. Uh… Thanks, Janelle. Really.”

“Don’t mention it. Now, Mrs Markhov, if you’d please be on your way.”

RHETORIC – That's bureaucratic for “get the fuck out”.

ASSERTION – She’s back into professional mode now. You should do the same.

STREET SMARTS – Wait until you're outside to read that paper.

Taiven nods curtly before heading out the office, then down the stairs, until she reaches the backyard where her bike still waits.

SCATTERBRAIN – Good bike. Such a good boy.

STREET SMARTS – The yard is empty and no one seems to be around. Plus, the walls block out the noise of the street. Perfect timing for reading that paper.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – And for a smoke.

SOLLERTIA – Your fingers hurt a little when you press them on your lighter, but soon enough your cigarette is lit and you unfold the crumpled paper.

SENSES (SIGHT) – A neat, tight handwriting. Two names and an address.

“The Brickwall, 25B Solomon Street”

“Magali and Charles Delestre”

HYPERMNESIA – Huh. Delestre… Delestre… Nope, nothing on that name.

SMARTASS – Janelle said something about testimonies. They might know something about the Hawthorne situation.

PARTI DU PEUPLE – Janelle has always been good at finding and keeping sources everywhere. Always been naturally good with people.

SHADOWSELF – Unlike you.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Hey! We have scripts now! We know how to talk to people, we've learned how to. We know the ropes now.

SHADOWSELF – It’s not something you’re supposed to learn the ropes of.

FOCUS – So. I’m done with that checklist. Let’s recap.

- Make sure Tristan’s willing to be helped out of his situation ✓

- Make sure Ian approves ✓

- Get information on the Hawthorne family from Dlawenn ✓

- Watch a tape of Charity Hawthorne’s speech to learn what kind of person you're dealing with ✓

- Pick up Ujin from school at 4:30

- Make dinner

- Ask Ian if he can get one free evening

- Visit the Brickwall and interrogate Magali and Charles Delestre on said evening

SMARTASS – Hold on one moment. I love this, but I have to ask, what even is the Brickwall?

HYPERMNESIA – You remember it. It’s a bar. Open from 6pm to 6am every night.

CITY GIRL – Solomon Street only comes alive at dusk. For now, the sun only shines on a paved road littered with empty goblets, cigarette butts and colorful pieces of torn paper. Someone lost their shoe in front of the 25B. The blinds are shut, but inside, the employees are already hard at work. Gordianus Gens Laurentia, the owner, is coordinating his staff from his countertop, towering above the room with all his 129 centimeters. “Mayumi, I want those speakers working in thirty minutes. Bilal, if the shaker keeps malfunctioning, you're on barista duty tonight, you have the best grip in this entire town. Snowfeather, are the costumes and stage ready yet? Who's taking care of the lights? Penny, if you'd be so kind as to go get Heinrich, that good-for-nothing is probably tripping on Ferran somewhere in North Galilea and I need him tonight. What do you mean you broke your heel, Julieta?!”

STREET SMARTS – Wait, isn't that…

HYPERMNESIA – This is a bar where all people that don’t recognize themselves in the gender binary, in the classic heterosexual norm or that want some fun can gather.

RHETORIC – A queer bar. The Brickwall is a queer bar.

HYPERMNESIA – It opened back in 190. Before that… You don’t remember what it was before the war. You never went in this part of town then.

CITY GIRL – Solomon Street is known for many things. Opioid lounges. Bars. Cabarets. Nightclubs. A few brothels disguised as motels.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – So, so much debauchery.

SMARTASS – Where do you even remember this from?!

HYPERMNESIA – You went in once. When you were absolutely stoned. You don't remember what you did in there.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Oh god. This is the worst.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Are you kidding?! We're finally about to get that party started!

PARTI DU PEUPLE – Why would Janelle send you to a queer bar?

THE HUNT – To get back at you.

SMARTASS – For your investigation. Remember the names. Those two are probably regulars.

COMPOSURE – That's gonna be tricky. You’re the Chief Head of the Bureau’s wife. You can't be seen in this kind of place.

THEATRICS – Well, you know what that means. You’ll have to blend in with that crowd.

FOCUS – For the good of the investigation.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Ugh, bars are not good for you, I don't know if-

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Shut up, stick-up-the-ass! This is finally my time to shine! Oh, you're gonna have so much fun.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – But this is a bar. A bar means evening. Evening means no sun. No sun means-

THICKSKIN – You’ll just get a lot of caffeine.

SMARTASS – And go in early.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – …

SCATTERBRAIN – Do you get to put on glitter?

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS – Damn right you do. Hey, brain gal! Put this on your lil list!

FOCUS – Checklist update:

- Get ready to serve cunt. Whatever that means.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT – Day above, have mercy.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR – No use praying to a dead god.

It's the first evening of March 196 in Encre. Taiven left the office and a very pleased Tristan around four to go pick up her daughter from school. The evening routine went as usual. Homework, dinner, bed. Except instead of going to sleep about an hour after Ujin, Taiven poured herself coffee and lingered in the living room, waiting for her husband to come home.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - Need… To stay… Awake…

It really isn't easy for a Gaikamshigthai to keep their eyes open once the night has fallen. Taiven has gotten a little better at it, thanks to adulthood and an unholy amount of caffeine.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - Sweet sweet caffeine.

Nonetheless, it isn't really healthy or pleasant, so hearing Ian walk through the door is kind of a relief. Upon seeing his wife sprawled upon the sofa, he raises an eyebrow, rapidly takes off his coat.

“Good evening, Taiven. I thought you’d be sleeping already…”

BLEEDING HEART - He’s a little worried. Usually, when you linger after sunset, it’s that you have something serious to talk about.

HYPERMNESIA - Evening of March 14th, 194. It was eleven when he came back home, with his old coat on, you know, the horrendous checkered one, the sun had set a while ago, but you were still waiting. Curled up on the same sofa. Half dozing off, half crying. It was after you-

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - How about you don’t think about that right now?

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - Yeah… I’m with you on this one… Let's cut to the chase so we can get to bed…

Taiven straightens up a little, with a big yawn.

“Hi, Ian... There’s something I wanted to discuss before I go get some z's.”

RHETORIC - Nice job. Light tone. That’ll ease his worries.

Sure enough, that seems to reassure him. He walks over to sit next to his wife, with a curious glint in his eyes.

COMPOSURE - He still smiles at you, however.

BLEEDING HEART - Making sure you feel safe to proceed.

“Well… There’s this new guy at the People's Party. Tristan Hawthorne. And… I have good reasons to think he might be in danger.”

Ian nods thoughtfully, still waiting for her to continue.

REFLEXES - He tilted his head when you said “Hawthorne”.

FOCUS - He does that often in conversations. When you say something he heard about before.

SMARTASS - Ooooooh, so the name is familiar to him as well, huh?

“I think it’s about his wife. And mage power dynamic-related stuff. He seemed like he wanted help, so I was wondering if I could investigate.”

RHETORIC - Aren't you forgetting something?

“Safely. Of course.”

Ian settles back against the armrest, smiles.

“Well, if you do it safely, I don’t see why not.”

RHETORIC - “But I'm not using my position to help you.”

ASSERTION - That was kind of a given. And it's better that way. This is your thing.

SHADOWSELF - Doesn't mean you can't try to pry a little more info out of him.

“Great… Say, do you know the Hawthorne family? You did that thing with your head.”

“What thing with my head?”

“The tilt. You do that when you know stuff.”

Ian lets out a small “mh”.

COMPOSURE - Meaning, “I'll have to work on that later.”

“I heard about the Hawthornes, yes.”

RHETORIC - “Not enough to help you. And I already have dozens of cases on my hands, so I won't be able to assist.”

BLEEDING HEART - He seems a little sorry about it.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - He doesn't have to be. You can make this work… After… You sleep.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - Or you could just drink more coffee.

“If that's settled, Taiven, I believe it’s time for bed?” Ian adds with a little smile.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - Goddammit.

BLEEDING HEART - Wait. Has he eaten tonight?

“Have you…” Another yawn cuts Taiven off. “...Had dinner yet?”

Her husband’s hand gently pats her shoulder.

“I have. Don't worry about it and go to sleep. You’re exhausted and the sun will be back tomorrow.”

THEATRICS - He’s telling the truth. He did eat tonight.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - “The sun will be back tomorrow”... That’s pretty. And comforting, in a way.

FEISTY FLESH - Everyone aboard the sleepy train, then! We’ll need to be rested for the task ahead.

It’s not hard to fall asleep that night, at least not for Taiven. The night always hits her like a truck. Even if she likes to keep the wooden shutters open and doze off on the windowsill, wrapped in her blanket, watching the city lights flicker outside.

CITY GIRL – Encre is never quite asleep. In some underground warehouse, a bunch of students are throwing a rave and blasting electronic music like there's no tomorrow, either unaware or unaffected by the fact they could be arrested for it. A young father is singing his newborn baby back to sleep while his girlfriend gets some much deserved rest. An elf argues with a bartender about his unpaid tab and gets kicked out, so they decide to go on a walk. The night’s still young, after all. The streets will still smell of urine and weed and fried food in the morning, just covered in dew. But the morning hasn’t come yet. Two girls are smoking on a balcony and making bedroom eyes at each other. A vampire grocery clerk clocks in for his shift. He’ll probably steal a pack of meat or two from the shelves and the manager will pretend he didn't see him. The boy’s gotta eat somehow. Farther away, the lights of the Bureau are still on. Someone there works a night shift while listening to the radio, and…

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - Aaaand you wake up! Rise and shine, we have a shit ton of work today!

NERVES - Your back hurts like a bitch from falling asleep on that windowsill. When will you learn?

FEISTY FLESH - Nothing some stretches and a good breakfast can't fix. Come on, chop chop!

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - COFFEE FIRST. PLEASE. I’M BEGGING YOU.

Taiven gets coffee first. Then gets dressed, with one of her many shirts and many pairs of suspenders. Then brings her daughter to school on her bike, with much more care than when she's alone on it, before making a beeline for the downtown area. She knows exactly what to look for, and she finds it. A shop squeezed between a Wuqi restaurant and some kind of lounge.

SENSES (SIGHT) – The nameplate looks recently painted, which only makes it seem weirdly ostentatious compared to the worn facades of the other shops.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - Like it’s not quite meant to be there.

HYPERMNESIA - Trinidad’s Store For Office Supplies. It just popped up in that street about three months ago. You saw it once and kept it in the back of your mind, just in case it'd come in handy.

SHADOWSELF - That time is now.

Taiven enters the store, gets out with a considerably heavy shopping bag and a considerably lighter wallet. It slows her bike down quite a bit, but she manages to get to the Party’s office nonetheless.

NERVES - Your legs are burning. Feels good.

SHADOWSELF - Now to enact your masterplan.

Taiven parks her bike, unstraps her bag, and walks in. The office is calm yet today.

SENSES (HEARING) - Some chatter in the meeting room. The very loud, rythmic sound of someone typing.

It’s Tristan. He’s sat at an empty office, concentrated on whatever he’s doing with his typewriter.

PARTI DU PEUPLE - It’s the newsletter he started yesterday.

BLEEDING HEART - He’s really taking this seriously.

NERVES - On some occasions, though, you notice a grimace twisting his face, and he massages his neck. Neck that's covered entirely by a turtleneck sweater.

REFLEXES - Strangulation?

“Oh- Morning, comrade Markhov!”

Taiven startles a little, turns to Tristan. The young man is smiling warmly at her.

BLEEDING HEART - There's gratefulness in that smile.

COMPOSURE - You mirror it as to not let your concern show.

“Hello, comrade Hawthorne. Already hard at work, I see.”

“Yes! I’m far from being done, but would you mind checking it out when you have time?”

ASSERTION - He really values your opinion despite only meeting you recently.

BLEEDING HEART - It's often like that when you show even a crumb of kindness to people who are lonely.

“Sure! I’ll make some time.”

“Great!” Tristan beams. “Thank you.”

PARTI DU PEUPLE - He has a purpose now. He’s useful. It makes him feel like he could accomplish anything.

“You’re welcome.”

SENSES (HEARING) - Heavy thuds. Someone walks to the mimeograph, looks at it, groans, bangs his fist on it.

THE HUNT - Your target.

PARTI DU PEUPLE - Dlawenn Presgella is an old veteran. Immigrated all the way from Samare when he was only a child. Did odd jobs. Managed to get into school. Teached socio-history at a local university. Got an academic chair in a prestigious college, lost it under Hillar. Deserted during the war. He’s been an adherent for as long as you can remember.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - Longer than you've been alive.

SMARTASS - Elves who get wrinkles and grey hair are usually older than three hundred.

SHADOWSELF - Now, to approach him.

Taiven walks up to the old elf, leans casually with her elbow on the mimeograph. Lead-grey eyes look up at her.

“Dlawenn. My guy.”

THEATRICS - Really? That’s what you landed on?

RHETORIC - Sorry. Panicked.

ASSERTION - He raises a very unimpressed eyebrow.

“What are you plotting this time, Markhov?”

RHETORIC - He says, as if you were always plotting something.

“Nothing! I just had a few questions. You wouldn't refuse helping a girl out, would you?”

BLEEDING HEART- As a matter of fact, he would.

STREET SMARTS - But he glances at Tristan. Then back at you. He’s forming an idea of what you're up to.

The elf lowers his voice.

“Is this about the new kid?”

Taiven lowers her voice as well.

“Pretty much. You’ve been here longer than everybody else, what do you have on the name Hawthorne?”

COMPOSURE - He shifts uncomfortably, sighs. He doesn’t want to answer that.

RHETORIC - Which means, he does have info.

“Listen, kid, there’s some waters you shouldn't disturb. I can’t help you here.”

THEATRICS - He can. He just won't tell you unless you have a very good argument to present in the face of his reluctance.

SHADOWSELF - Luckily, you do.

“That's too bad,” Taiven says with a deep, exaggerated sigh. “I guess you don’t want it, then.”

Dlawenn narrows his eyes.

“Want what?”

THEATRICS - Your time to shine.

FEISTY FLESH - You reach inside your big grocery bag and take out a huge cardboard box, that you carefully place on the table next to you.

SOLLERTIA - It’s a brand new mimeograph. Freshly bought and absolutely functional.

COMPOSURE - Dlawenn’s eyes widen. He nearly drops his coffee.

“You can't be serious.”

THEATRICS - Oh, but you so are.

BLEEDING HEART - He isn’t sure whether to be angry or impressed, so he settles on baffled.

“You… Where did you find this?”

Taiven shoots him a smug smile.

“I bought it.”

ASSERTION - With your own money.

SMARTASS - Well, it's technically your husband's money, but hey.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - He gave it to you and now you're about to make it everyone’s problem.

“And you carried that on your bike all the way here?!”

COMPOSURE - He’s actually kind of impressed.

FEISTY FLESH - Damn right, baby. Those calves and ass are fucking iron.

NERVES - Still hurts though.

THICKSKIN - Pain is just an information.

Taiven slowly pets the cardboard packaging.

“Let’s make a deal, Dlawenn. You tell me everything you know about the Hawthornes and I’ll install this baby for you.”

COMPOSURE - He’s frowning. Debating with himself.

ASSERTION - He can't tell you to fuck off because you paid for the machine with your own personal savings.

SOLLERTIA - Also he’s really sick of that old dying mimeograph.

PARTI DU PEUPLE - It's not just him. The whole office would benefit from a new one.

Dlawenn rubs his temple with a grumble, and starts putting the old mimeograph away.

BLEEDING HEART - Goodbye, old friend.

“Okay, fine. What do you want to know?”

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - Score.

ASSERTION - He caved in. Shoot your questions, now.

SOLLERTIA - First, you unpack your new baby and put it in place of the old one. There’s a bunch of technical stuff you’re not sure you master, though.

STREET SMARTS - You’ll crack it while he speaks.

“So,” Taiven starts as she fiddles with the machine. “Pretty much everything, actually. Were the Hawthornes up to anything before the war?”

Dlawenn shrugs, stepping aside a little to let the Gaikamshigthai work.

“As much as anyone. Most of them were wind mages, from time to time you could see a rarer domain appearing, but that was it. Made their fortune through luxury fashion a long time ago, now the Hawthorne girl just has to manage their investments and stock market placements.”

RHETORIC - Typical nepo baby.

“So their business wasn’t affected by the war?”

Dlawenn scoffs and lights up a cigarette.

“Of course it was, like everybody else’s. But they managed to pull through by putting their branches and the clothes at the service of the regime. Whatever made money.”

COMPOSURE - He’s trying to say it lightly, but his voice is dripping with venom.

“They held on until the liberation where they all died pretty much stupidly. Turns out collaboration doesn’t make for a good bomb shelter.”

SCATTERBRAIN - Doesn't make for a good bulletproof vest, either.

THICKSKIN - Those are bold words for a deserter.

“How many were there?” Taiven asks, still struggling with the mimeograph. “Before they were killed, I mean… Damn this thing.”

SOLLERTIA - Hey, give me a break, that shit’s hard!

“Six. Old James passed down the business to his son and daughter-in-law, Lawrence and Hope. They had a son and two daughters, Francis, Cassidy and Charity.”

HYPERMNESIA - Five of those names are engraved in the Memorial. Except there wasn't a “Cassidy”.

SMARTASS - Casey Hawthorne. Probably a nickname.

“No one in the family was drafted, as thanks to their working relationship with the regime, but they all died nonetheless. Bombed or shot. The Charity brat was the sole survivor, and she’s been a pain in our asses ever since.”

SMARTASS - Hm. So Charity was either really lucky…

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - Or incredibly smart.

“How come she made it?”

“Dunno. Stories diverge. Some say she was shielded by some bodies, others that she survived for several days under the ruins of her house by pumping oxygen with her magic, or that she was just spared because she was only a sixteen year old girl. Either way, she's alive, she has somehow managed to hold up the family name, she’s been making a political breakthrough and we all hate her.”

PARTI DU PEUPLE - They all truly do. Apart from a few exceptions, of course.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - Exceptions can make a lot of difference.

“Is she that terrible?”

ASSERTION - She beats her husband. Of course she's terrible.

BLEEDING HEART - Maybe you shouldn’t be so categoric… It can't be easy being the only remaining member of your family.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - It isn’t. It leaves a mark.

THE HUNT - Still. Most monsters look normal. Most monsters look just like you.

FOCUS - We don't have proof of the abuse yet, hold your horses.

Dlawenn scoffs, coughs a little.

“Never met her myself, but that's what everyone says. I avoid every meeting she’s set to speak up in.”

BLEEDING HEART - He’s not very proud of it.

SOLLERTIA - Hey, the machine works!

STREET SMARTS - I knew you’d crack it.

Taiven stretches her arms and back with a little satisfied noise, before turning to the old elf.

“Looks like it should work. I do have one last question, though. Is Charity a member of the Party? Which wing?”

“Radical.”

THEATRICS - A lie of omission. There’s something he’s not telling you here.

“Huhuh. And the truth?”

Dlawenn sighs again, deeply, scratches the back of his neck.

“Listen, I don’t know much else. If you want more details, you'll need to ask the headquarters for info, or a tape of a meeting so you can see yourself. The secretaries there handle that sort of stuff.”

PARTI DU PEUPLE - You do know a secretary.

HYPERMNESIA - Oh, no.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - Come on, she’s the only one you know!

BLEEDING HEART - She hates you.

SHADOWSELF - Maybe. But she might hate Charity Hawthorne more than she hates you. I say it’s worth a shot if you play your cards right.

PARTI DU PEUPLE - She won’t see you without an appointment.

THEATRICS - She’ll never book one with you. Someone has to take it on your behalf, under another name. But who to ask? Zandro?

PARTI DU PEUPLE - Zandro Sylberos, an aging felicis, sits at his office in the headquarters. It’s his third cigarette this morning. Janelle has been stressed out of her mins and he knows he’s the one who’ll have to do damage control. Neighbouring desks and all.

ASSERTION - They work too closely. He might get in trouble if he accepts a fake appointment for you.

STREET SMARTS - But you do have someone else on hand. In fact, he’s just in front of you.

SHADOWSELF - Right on.

“Could you do me another favor, Dlawenn? Nothing too big, I promise.”

“... Ask away.”

RHETORIC - He can hardly refuse after you pulled that brand new mimeograph out of nowhere and installed it for him.

STREET SMARTS - He can feel the shit coming up nonetheless.

“Could you give a call to the headquarters and ask for an appointment with Janelle Venegas as soon as possible?”

Dlawenn blinks, seemingly having a hard time grasping why Taiven would want him to have an appointment with Janelle…

COMPOSURE - Then understanding flashes behind his eyes and his sour expression twists into a mocking smile.

ASSERTION - Mocking?!

“Aaaah, I see. Someone’s doing a little private investigation but has made some enemies at the headquarters, am I right?”

ASSERTION - Fuck.

THEATRICS - Elusiveness is your best defense at this point, sister. Keep it vague.

Taiven laughs awkwardly.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, I can't make that appointment and I really need it.”

“Hm. Dunno, kid. Seems a little unprofessional.”

ASSERTION - So is insulting an inanimate object on the daily.

RHETORIC - Don't get your knickers in a twist. He’s just being difficult for the sake of it.

SHADOWSELF - You know what to do, sunshine.

FEISTY FLESH - Punch him.

SHADOWSELF - What? No, you imbecile. Make the eyes.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - The bedroom eyes?

SHADOWSELF - No, not those. You know which eyes I'm talking about.

Taiven looks up at Dlawenn, who is then faced with an extremely off-putting, puppy-eyed face.

“Please? For the mimeograph?”

RHETORIC - Emotional blackmail. Fuck yeah.

BLEEDING HEART - It’s… not very noble.

SHADOWSELF - It doesn’t matter if it’s noble. What matters is that it’s effective.

Dlawenn stares at her uncomfortably, before breaking eye contact and waving his hand around.

“Alright, alright. I’ll get to the phone. Might take some time, though.”

COMPOSURE - He’s trying to look annoyed, but the corners of his mouth are twitching up as he leaves.

BLEEDING HEART - There’s a sort of begrudging affection in his eyes when he looks at you.

RHETORIC - Begrudging? Why begrudging?

SHADOWSELF- A lot of people like you despite their better judgement. Like, they like you but they're not happy about it. He's one of those, sunshine.

COMPOSURE - So is your only friend, except he decided to like you a little more than the others.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - You’re endearing, basically.

SHADOWSELF - In a wet kitten kind of way.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - Hey! Uncalled for much?!

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - Been a loooong time since we last got our kitten wet.

THE HUNT - WHY. WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT.

HYPERMNESIA - Actually the last time was-

COMPOSURE - Ahem. Maybe we should focus on something more productive.

PARTI DU PEUPLE - Didn’t Tristan ask you to review the newsletter?

Taiven shakes the thoughts off, and walks over to Tristan’s desk.

REFLEXES - He doesn’t jump this time. Doesn't even do so much as look up.

SOLLERTIA - He’s laser-focused on his typing. You should rummage through what he's already written.

She picks up the few first pages, skims over them.

FOCUS - It's…

RHETORIC - How should you put it.

BLEEDING HEART - It’s… not that bad.

SMARTASS - It’s not good.

THEATRICS - Horrendous, even. An insult to all hands who ever held a pen.

FOCUS - The spelling is perfect, but the style is childish at worse, and bureaucratic at best.

SCATTERBRAIN - You’d think rich people would read a lot.

SMARTASS - Reading doesn't automatically make you a good writer.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - He really poured his whole soul into it, though.

SCATTERBRAIN - His heart, maybe, but the soul… That would mean he doesn't have a lot. Probably isn’t that used to expressing himself.

“Is it okay?”

He’s stopped typing, now looking at Taiven with hopeful eyes.

SHADOWSELF - Shit, he has eyes of his own. Don't be swayed!

COMPOSURE - Your face is smooth as stone. You're welcome.

THEATRICS - Lie. Now.

“There's… a few things that will need more work, but it’s not a bad first draft.”

RHETORIC - It’s not a good first draft either.

“Maybe try to make longer sentences?”

“Oh, uh, sure, I'll try my best!”

And back to typing he goes.

SMARTASS - That'd be a really slight improvement.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - But an improvement all the same.

HYPERMNESIA - Your own drafts were not good either when you started, to be fair, but you improved quickly.

SMARTASS - So will he, if he’s eager to learn.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - Cut the guy some slack. At least he's having fun.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - And you're not. You’re really not.

Taiven puts the horrendous papers down as Dlawenn comes back into the room and gestures for her to come out to the hallway. She follows suit, crosses her arms as he lights up another cigarette.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - Can you please get one too? Please? You need comfort after what Tristan’s writing did to your poor, poor eyes.

She pulls out a cig as well. It does feel nice.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - Ugh… At least it’s not booze, I guess.

“So, how did it go?”

“Great. She has a free slot this afternoon, at three. You can go then. But don’t blame me if she kicks you out after uncovering your little plot.”

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - This afternoon?! Hey, that's even better than what you hoped for!

RHETORIC - He probably pulled at Janelle’s strings a little, here.

BLEEDING HEART - To help you out.

COMPOSURE - You try to keep your smile’s width at a minimum.

SHADOWSELF - Yes, please. Remember your missing tooth. No one wants to see your holed smile, it's ugly.

“Thanks, Dlawenn. I owe you one.”

“Eh, it's no problem. And you already owed me something before but I think the thing you bought has largely repaid all your debts.”

RHETORIC - Uh. Wait. You owed him something?

THEATRICS - He’s not lying.

HYPERMNESIA - I… don’t remember anything of the sort.

THEATRICS - What do you mean, you don't remember? You remember everything!

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - Almost everything.

HYPERMNESIA - I can't be a hundred percent reliable all the time! None of us are!

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - That's not what I mean. If you don’t remember, then there’s only two options. One, I'm stopping you from remembering. But since I'm not, that only leaves option two.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - Which is… hold on.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - … Teehee?

THEATRICS - “TEEHEE”???

HYPERMNESIA - Oh gods. What did you do.

REFLEXES - You've just been standing there looking into space for three minutes! Just ask him!

“Uh… What do you mean I owed you something?”

Dlawenn snorts, which is the closest he ever gets to full-blown laughter.

“You don’t remember ? Oh well, that was eight years ago. Might as well fill you in.”

BLEEDING HEART - Uh… He looks a bit too smug here for it to be comfortable.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - On second thought, should you really go down this road? Maybe there's a reason you forgot.

HYPERMNESIA - No. Let’s see this through.

“You’d just joined the party back then. You were… Basically still a teen.”

SMARTASS - 25-8=17. Checks out.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - Being seventeen didn’t feel good.

BLEEDING HEART- I don’t think anyone who turned seventeen four years after the War felt good.

“You came to help set up the stage for the rally on a friday night, and we finished before sunset, so a bunch of us decided to go grab a drink. You weren’t of drinking age yet, technically, but you tagged along and Victor paid for your drink too.”

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - Thank you for your service, Victor.

HYPERMNESIA - Victor… Was it the older human guy with his ugly fedora? Yes. It was.

“The thing is… Well. We were a group of ten, and they didn't know that you, Carlotta and I were non-mages.”

HYPERMNESIA - Oh. Oh no.

RHETORIC - What? Do you remember?

HYPERMNESIA - Yes. Unfortunately. It’s coming back in pretty great detail.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - It’s okay, you can handle it. Fire away.

“And after a few drinks, the discussion went a tad sideways.”

HYPERMNESIA - “I mean, it’s only fair that we mages are protected, right? We're basically the saviors of this city!” “Some people ought to be more grateful, you know.Without us, this city would have been reduced to ashes after the war.” “Have you seen the number of non-mages who died? That’s natural selection for you. It’s sad, but that's life. The weak don’t survive this kind of stuff.” Everyone laughed.

RHETORIC - If only they’d known.

THE HUNT - You wanted to run. Yell. Hit. Anything. But you just sat there, frozen.

FEISTY FLESH - Weak.

Dlawenn grimaces a little.

“It was… certainly something. Lottie didn’t dare to open her mouth, and I just didn't want to waste my time on this. But you… Well, I noticed too late that you kept asking Anita to get you more drinks.”

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - Okay. Listen. It was either that or punching the living lights out of everybody. And you were a lot more hot-headed then.

“There was… bloody abyss, a shit ton of empty glasses all around you. And you started looking really woozy.”

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - To my defense, the evening was much better after those beers!

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - Somehow I highly doubt that.

HYPERMNESIA - You’d be right.

“So I made up some excuse about how you had asked me to be your ride or something, grabbed you, and dragged you out of the bar.”

THEATRICS - The lie was plausible. He did own a nice motorcycle.

BLEEDING HEART - That was nice of him. I hope Carlotta managed to get out too.

“Okay. I guess I do owe you one for that.”

“I’m not done.”

RHETORIC - Oh god, he really isn’t.

“I asked you where you lived, and you started wailing about how you didn’t know and that you didn't want to go home and that you were a bad daughter, a bad friend and overall a huge fuckup, you then admitted to being high the whole afternoon.”

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - You admitted to being what.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - Babe, you know your teenage years were basically a drug sandbox, why so surprised?

THICKSKIN - You shake off the urge to scratch the unnerving and sudden itch in the crease of your left elbow.

“And then…”

RHETORIC - Oh my god, there's more?

THEATRICS - Please don’t say it.

“You threw up on my shoes.”

THEATRICS - Is there a good place to kill yourself around here?

FOCUS - You're on the ground floor and the closest bridge is ten kilometers away. So, no.

FEISTY FLESH - You can get there very fast on your bike.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - You’re not killing yourself. You’re going to handle things like an adult.

COMPOSURE - You have significantly paled, by the way.

THICKSKIN - I am trying to pump the blood back to your face and you're not making it easy!

SHADOWSELF - Say something. You need to save face. Whatever face there’s left to save, anyway.

“So I was shitfaced,” Taiven says, mortified.

SHADOWSELF - Oh, come on!

RHETORIC - Yeah, I got nothing.

Dlawenn snorts again.

“Oh, utterly. I had to walk you back to the office and you slept on the couch like some kind of stray cat. Then at dawn you woke up and you stumbled home without a word. It was kinda funny.”

BLEEDING HEART - It wasn’t. He was worried for you.

“Looks like you’ve laid off the substances since then, so that’s good.”

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - He means you got boring and dull.

THEATRICS - Nonsense! I think chainsmoking makes you look cool as fuck.

THICKSKIN - It’s bad for you. It’s a miracle you haven’t contracted any kind of chronic respiratory disease when you’ve smoked for nearly half your life.

“Yeah, I’ve pumped the brakes a little,” Taiven says as she ironically puts her cigarette to her mouth. “Sorry about your shoes, by the way.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve seen way worse than a kid zonked out of her gourd.”

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - Haven't we all.

THEATRICS - This is still mortifying.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - The drugs were also shit-quality, by the way, but that was the best you could afford then.

CITY GIRL - In a back alley, some non-mage kid is snorting a rail of low-quality speed off the lid of a trashcan. In the comfort of his room, some mage brat is getting high on some expensive shit. One doesn’t have the money to get better stuff, the other does. One will wake up tomorrow morning, the other won't.

Taiven shudders, mechanically rubs her hand against her forearm. Dlawenn turns her gaze to her.

BLEEDING HEART - There’s an eight-year old pity in them.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - It was either that or fear.

BLEEDING HEART - Everyone got worried about you.

SCATTERBRAIN - Like you were some kind of broken-down car about to explode.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - Not everyone thought of you like that. Toshiki never made you feel that way.

COMPOSURE - He still cared.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - That's what you needed. Someone who cared without being scared.

SCATTERBRAIN - Taking the “s” out of “scared”.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - You were a kid stuck in a hard place. You did your best. And look at you now!

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - You’re rich, meaning you can afford better drugs!

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - YOU SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH.

FOCUS - Anyway, if we’re done with the trip down memory lane, maybe we should get back to the main topic?

“Well. Thanks anyway, Dlawenn.”

“Thank you for the mimeograph, kid. Think you could get us a new coffee maker, too?”

Taiven snickers and puts off her cigarette. The elf does the same.

“Maybe, if my investigation goes well enough. Wish me luck.”

“Best I can do is keep you in my thoughts.”

“I can work with that.”

THEATRICS - Well, that was humiliating.

COMPOSURE - Relax. You have a few hours to get it together before your appointment with Janelle.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - Right. Janelle. Definitely not going to make the day better.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - You’ll be fine! If you can smoke at least four more cigs before going!

PARTI DU PEUPLE - We need the info to help out a fellow comrade, no matter how unpleasant.

SMARTASS - We've already learned a lot today, but… Yeah, it’s not enough.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - Stop it with the negativity! Janelle can be cooperative. You’ll be okay.

_____

It’s the first morning of March 196 in Encre. The days have been getting longer, the streets busier, the trees greener. The traffic in the neighborhood is just as jammed as ever.

That doesn't stop the young woman on her rust-red bike, half-bleached hair tied into a messy ponytail, sleeves rolled up and feet absolutely crushing the pedals. She zigzags through the cars and the klaxons, then down the slope, wind flapping her pants against her ankles.

SCATTERBRAIN - YOU ARE A BIRD. YOU ARE FREE. YOU ARE SO FUCKING FREE RIGHT NOW.

THE HUNT - STOP IT! STOP THE DAMN BIKE! YOU’RE GOING TO CRASH INTO THE NEAREST STREETLAMP AND DIE!

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - No, you're not! It’s okay, you’re used to this! You know how to ride a bike now!

HYPERMNESIA - Fourtieth day at university. The hiss, then the loud metallic crash. The feeling of the wet pavement under your elbows. Your cheek hitting it and the loud crack that followed. You spat out blood. And your left fang.

NERVES - Yeowch.

HYPERMNESIA - Then you got up. Toshiki was standing two meters away, in the rain, in a copy of one of his many black trench-coats.

COMPOSURE - Barely even blinked. Just looked at your scraped knees, your bloodied mouth, the tooth in your hand, and then asked gingerly if you were going to pick up your mangled bike from the ground.

SHADOWSELF - You lost a tooth and a lot of charisma capital that day.

THEATRICS - Requiescat in pace, sister.

SOLLERTIA - Hey, at least you managed to fix your bike!

REFLEXES - Now pump the damn brakes so you don't have to again.

The bike comes to a screeching halt in front of a narrow stone building, her driver miraculously unharmed. Taiven, for that is her name, dismounts it with a content sigh, then rubs her hands together.

“Whew.”

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - See? That wasn’t so bad!

THE HUNT - I HATE THIS. I HATE IT HERE. WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING THIS.

THICKSKIN - Easy now. Steady. Get your heartbeat to slow down… Good. Just like that.

ASSERTION - Now readjust your glasses and go in with that confident stride of yours.

Taiven exhales and looks up at the building, the red flag and the white flower stamped in the middle. The People’s Party district building.

HYPERMNESIA - It used to be a several-stories bookstore, before the tenants were deported. It was refurbished in 188, and now it's the district office for the Party.

She's relieved she isn’t needed at the main headquarters this week. Not after saturday. Saturday was yet another verbal joust with Anthony at the stand, in front of an entire crowd. Some people laughing, others shouting.

COMPOSURE - You’ve kept your cool. So did he, although with great difficulty.

SENSES (HEARING) - But you did hear the “fucking bitch” he hissed through his gritted teeth backstage.

PARTI DU PEUPLE - In the main headquarters, a significant amount of blocks away, Anthony Marques still mulls over what happened this weekend. Since you've stopped being a ghost speech writer, you've figuratively shoved your middle finger in his face several times and he hates it. He's the rising star of this party, goddammit. How come the Markhov bitch keeps getting in his way?

BLEEDING HEART - He wants to see you defeated. He wants to see you kneel. Make you pay for his injured ego.

THE HUNT - It's not desire. It's domination. He wants you on his plate.

COMPOSURE - But he can’t have that. So he keeps his jaw clenched and goes back to work.

ASSERTION - Serves him right.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - Probably thinks about you when he fucks Janelle.

NERVES - OH, EW.

THEATRICS - VERY VERY EW. BWERGH EVEN.

SHADOWSELF - Too bad because he's not getting it.

FEISTY FLESH - If anyone bends over backwards then it’s not gonna be you.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT : Can you please stop thinking about the terrifying hypothetical of Marques’ sexuality even remotely including you and go in? Please?

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS : Yeah, please don’t think about him railing his fiancee in the headquarters’ bathroom and about how it-

FOCUS - Enough. Enter. Work. Now.

The Gaikamshigthai shakes her head, as if to dust off the unwarranted thoughts, and steps into the building. It's only nine in the morning and these aren't the headquarters', so the offices are empty, except for a few secretaries, the janitor and an old elf named Dlawenn who’s mumbling very colorful curse words at the mimeograph.

BLEEDING HEART - Mimeograph abuse.

PARTI DU PEUPLE - We've all been there.

SCATTERBRAIN - But you've never been abused by a mimeograph before, have you?

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - Not by a mimeograph, no.

RHETORIC - It’s a figure of speech. Moving on.

Nothing out of the ordinary. Apart from one thing.

There’s a young man sitting in one of the worn-out couches, absently sipping coffee from his goblet. A human, with tired hazel eyes, freckles scattered around his pale skin, short, neatly combed chestnut hair, and a heart-shaped face. His clothes are neat, shirt perfectly ironed and clean jacket matching with his trousers. His shoes, although a little dusty, have been recently waxed.

PARTI DU PEUPLE - You never saw him here before.

HYPERMNESIA - You’d remember, if you had.

FOCUS - That's a paper goblet. Most adherents here have their own mug stored in one of the break room cupboards, so that means he's either a newbie or a guest.

STREET SMARTS - You know what to do, champ.

“Well, would you look at that!” Taiven chimes in with her most welcoming smile. “It’s always good to see a new face around here. Do you perhaps think about joining us?”

SHADOWSELF - Somehow you succeed in making it sound perfectly normal and not like you’re some creep trying to coax him into joining a cult.

The young man startles a little, but soon enough an uncertain smile eases its way onto his face. He puts down his goblet on the wooden coffee table and swiftly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a little flush coming to his cheeks.

BLEEDING HEART - Not expecting such a warm greeting, but appreciating it nonetheless.

“Oh, hum, thank you for the offer, but…” A shy laugh. “I’ve actually been an adherent for quite some time. It's just the first time I could gather enough courage to come here.”

His voice is soft, hesitant, almost hushed, his words carefully chosen.

SCATTERBRAIN - Feels like a fancy carpeted hallway in a quaint little hostel.

“Well, that’s great! Will spare me the usual spiel.”

She sits down in the armchair next to his couch. Not right next to him, so he doesn't feel too invaded.

COMPOSURE - He seems considerably less intimidated now, even lets out a relieved breath.

SHADOWSELF - You have a bad habit of towering over people, sunshine.

ASSERTION - Bad habit? I think it’s great.

SHADOWSELF - Of course. Not oppressive at all. See, this is why you only have one friend.

“Um.”

The young man fidgets nervously with the buttons of his jacket.

“I’m… just not used to going out. But I thought I should make better use of my free time, so here I am. The good sir over here got me coffee and told me to wait there for something to happen, since it’s not very crowded this morning.”

The good sir in question, Dlawenn, is now banging his fist on the decidedly uncooperative mimeograph, muttering to himself.

SENSES (HEARING) - “They really ought to replace the damn thing.”

“Well, it's always good to see some activity here. Even if it’s just drinking coffee. May I know your name?”

He looks a little taken aback, but then hurriedly extends his left hand, faced flushed even redder.

“Right! Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude! I’m Tristan Hawthorne. Pleased to meet you.”

SMARTASS - Hawthorne… Hawthorne… That rings a little bell somewhere. Let me run some mental background check, I'll come back later. You're not preoccupied with his patronym right now.

Taiven smiles, shakes his hand vigorously.

FEISTY FLESH - Good. Nice handshake. Solid.

SOLLERTIA - You feel something cold against your skin. Metallic. A wedding ring? How did you not notice it before?

SENSES (SIGHT) - To be honest, your eyesight is kinda shit. Blame astigmatism.

“Pleased to meet you too, comrade Hawthorne.”

Tristan lightens up almost instantly.

PARTI DU PEUPLE - “Comrade”. Makes him feel like he belongs.

BLEEDING HEART - It doesn't happen to him often.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - Reminds you of yourself.

HYPERMNESIA - It’s october 178. It’s your first year of elementary. You're alone on the playground, drawing in the mud with a stick. The other kids are playing tag, or hide and seek. You've tried joining them, but you're apparently too loud, too bossy, too annoying. One kid called you some kind of slur. You don’t know what the word means.

SMARTASS - It was an encrois slang word who can basically translate to "sun-dick-swallower" and is mostly used against Gaikamshigthais. You're welcome.

THICKSKIN - Oh, boo hoo, no one wants to play with me… Seriously, it's been twenty years, can’t you get over it?

She lets go of his hand and grins, ignoring the memories as best as she can.

“I'm Taiven Markhov, by the way.”

“Oh, I know!”

Regret immediately downs on his face. His replied came out fast, probably motivated by his surge of enthusiasm. Taiven raises an eyebrow, still smiling.

“You do?”

“Uh… Yeah. I was at the rally on Saturday. I’d heard about you before, but it was the first time I saw one of your speeches in public. You were… really amazing. I was really surprised.”

THEATRICS - He means it.

RHETORIC - There's something weird in the way he says it, however. Why was he surprised?

“Why surprised?”

Tristan seems even more embarrassed.

“Well, I heard rumors about you before. Not the nice kind. But I was happy to see they were wrong.”

RHETORIC - Heh. Honest guy.

ASSERTION - A sense of pride washes over you. You're so used to people on the left political spectrum grimacing when they hear your name. Thinking you’re the Markhov’s lapdog. But you're not anyone’s lapdog.

“I’m happy to hear that! Even if I do put a lot of efforts into annoying my fellow comrades, I admit.”

THEATRICS - That makes him laugh.

“When you feel confident enough, perhaps you can take the stand as well!”

His smile suddenly falters a little and he carefully leans back into the couch, hands fidgeting again.

“I… Maybe. We’ll see.”

FOCUS - Clammed up all of a sudden. Lips pressed tight. Avoidant gaze. Slumped shoulders. Nervous tics.

BLEEDING HEART - Whatever you said, it scared him.

SOLLERTIA - He’s spinning his ring around his finger.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - Uh oh. You have a bad feeling about this.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - Okay, you got this! Stay affable.

“Are you okay?” Taiven asks with concern.

“Yes, yes, don’t worry about me.”

His nervous twitching seems to subside, but he's still not looking at her.

COMPOSURE - He’s not calmed down. Only pretends he has.

“Are you sure? You don’t look too well…”

She raises a hand towards his shoulder, and the young man shudders and tenses visibly. When his eyes snap back up, they’re slightly widened.

THE HUNT - The terrified eyes of a prey. He thought you were gonna hit him.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - You definitely have a really, really bad feeling about this.

THE HUNT - He’s looking around for some kind of exit. Just in case.

STREET SMARTS - The fact that Dlawenn has left the room and the proximity in a closed space makes him uncomfortable.

COMPOSURE - Your hand is still hovering over his shoulder, by the way. It’s really awkward.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - Pssst. Hey. You should pay a little more attention to the smell.

SENSES (SMELL) - What’s… tobacco? Oh. He's a smoker.

RHETORIC - Perfect. Look at this amazing opportunity to slink out.

“Comrade Hawthorne, do you want to go out for a smoke?”

Tristan blinks, clearly not expecting that, but gives a small nod.

“Yeah, sure. I'd like that.”

THE HUNT - Smart. The street is busy. Lots of openings. Less cramped. Easy to flee.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - SMOKE! SMOKE! SMOKE! SMOKE!

They both walk out, Taiven in front, Tristan following. The street outside is filled with cars now, some mobylettes and scooters zooming past, Taiven’s bike is still secured to the nearest bike parking spot. Tristan immediately pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, as well as an engraved lighter.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - Woaaaah, that's a super expansive brand. Good quality too. You should-

COMPOSURE - You’re not asking him for a cigarette. You have your own pack and it'd be rude to ask when you're the one who suggested the outing.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - Boo.

They both light their cigarettes in silence. Taiven sucks in a puff of smoke, exhales it into the morning air.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - Ahhh, that hits the spot.

NERVES - It helps you both calm down.

The Gaikamshigthai closes her eyes, listening to the sounds of the motorway, the klaxons, the fleeting conversations of passerbys.

CITY GIRL - Life courses along the city’s many blood vessels again after years of trampling on its trachea. There’s stores opening their windows, laundry left to dry over the balcony, an uncessant movement and shuffle. South from here, a girl is making silly faces at her friend through the schoolbus window. The girl on the sidewalk is trying not to laugh. On the biggest avenue in the city, an office worker listens to his autoradio, tapping his finger to the rythm. Some new kind of rock music station his son recommended to him. It passes the time in the traffic jam. Near the memory garden, two lovers are speeding on their motorbike, laughing hysterically. They’re daring anyone to come out and arrest them while they're so happy to be alive. An old woman in a wheelchair is enjoying the sun by taking a nice stroll out, not letting the uneven pavement stop her, her dog trotting in front of her. A homeless person makes back and forth paces accross the same bridge. So many trod here each day, you can scarcely believe desolation had shut it all down a mere decade ago.

SCATTERBRAIN - Like flowers growing from the bones beneath a graveyard.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - The biggest graveyard is in your head and you should leave it alone.

Tristan is staring off into space, more relaxed than he was inside, concentrated on his cigarette. A few remnants of nervosity makes his eyelid twitch from time to time.

SMARTASS - Hey. Hey. I finally found where the ringing came from. Hawthorne’s the name of a big lineage of mages. Not Kojima-type big but still kind of important. Bourgeois. Radicals. Close connections inside the Party.

HYPERMNESIA - Hawthorne. You heard that name. You read it.

PARTI DU PEUPLE - Janelle Venegas, a secretary, is complaining in the hallway to her colleagues, waving around her left hand adorned with an engagement ring. “Will Hawthorne ever learn to shut up?! Every time she opens her mouth she makes us look like lunatics!”

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - Hope Hawthorne. Lawrence Hawthorne. Casey Hawthorne. And counting. Names engraved in the stone of the War Memorial.

THE HUNT - Those who weren’t shot dead were blown to pieces.

SMARTASS - But there’s one left, isn't there?

HYPERMNESIA - From what you remember, they weren’t called Tristan.

SHADOWSELF - Try to ease into conversation. Don't scare him off.

“I’m sorry if I got too comfortable in there,” Taiven finally says apologetically.

Tristan slowly shakes his head.

“No, you did nothing wrong. I'm just a little jumpy, is all.”

“Does the idea of public speaking make you nervous? It’s okay if it does. It’s not for everyone.”

“No, I'd love to try, but…”

RHETORIC - But ?

COMPOSURE - He’s nervous again. Shoves his left hand into his pocket.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - He doesn’t want to look at the ring.

RHETORIC - Give the poor guy a little nudge here.

“But something else is stopping you?”

He stares at the ground for a while, then sighs.

“I doubt my wife would approve.”

RHETORIC - By that, he means his wife would definitely not approve.

SMARTASS - The wife! The wife is the remaining Hawthorne, not him!

COMPOSURE - Makes sense. He doesn’t carry himself with the confidence that comes with knowing you have access to magic.

RHETORIC - And to the privileges that come with them.

THEATRICS - Play dumb.

“Really? Why wouldn’t she?”

“Because… Hm… How should I say it… Charity has… Very clear stances on things. It’d stain our good name if I were ever to preach something else.”

BLEEDING HEART - A hint of resentment.

SMARTASS - So the name’s Charity Hawthorne.

SCATTERBRAIN - Ironic. She doesn't sound very charitable.

NERVES - When he says her name, he instinctively rubs his wrist. Winces.

THE HUNT - He’s scared of her.

SMARTASS - Hey, so. I have a reasoning, but you're not gonna like it.

RHETORIC - Fire away.

SMARTASS - Let's recap what we know. Tristan obviously doesn’t go outside a lot. It’s his first time coming to the Party office despite being a long-time adherent. He’s a non-mage married to a mage from a powerful family and who decides what he can or can’t do and who doesn't have a great reputation around here. His whole attitude is that of a hunted animal. So the logical conclusion would be ?

BLEEDING HEART - … Domestic violence.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - You’ve guessed it a while ago. It all looks very familiar, doesn't it?

COMPOSURE - Don’t let your thoughts show.

“Oh,” Taiven simply says.

Tristan falls silent again, eyes darting away in shame, like he said something he wasn't supposed to.

NERVES - Getting awkward again. You should say something.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - How funny would it be if you just yelled “TITS” out of nowhere?

BLEEDING HEART - Screaming randomly in the face of a potential domestic abuse victim? Very much not.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - Yeah, chill, you get really weird when you’re nervous.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - Killjoy.

RHETORIC - We still have to say something.

BLEEDING HEART - No. To do something.

“That doesn’t seem very healthy,” Taiven remarks. Then, lower, “Do you need help?”

Tristan blinks at her. Several times.

BLEEDING HEART - No one’s ever offered to help before you.

“It’s… It's very nice of you, comrade Markhov, but I was lucky enough to marry her. She’s, well, a Hawthorne, and my only asset is being from a wealthy family.”

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - Probably the youngest child. And the most feeble one. Easy to throw away to the wolves.

RHETORIC - He didn't say “no”.

BLEEDING HEART - Because that would be a lie, and he hates lying.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - Does that mean you’re on the case now? Is there a way to help?

FOCUS - Okay. Let's not rush too far ahead. We should gather intel before we do anything else. Intel on him, on Charity Hawthorne, and especially on her political record.

RHETORIC - Then, when we have enough material to work with, we can talk to him about potentially filing a complaint.

THE HUNT - Otherwise he won't believe that it can work.

SHADOWSELF - Alright. Keep the conversation going a little. One info at a time.

“Have you been married for a long time?”

Tristan looks up to the sky, seemingly doing some mental math.

“Since I was twenty-three, so… about five years.”

SMARTASS - 23+5=28

REFLEXES - Wait, he’s TWENTY-EIGHT?!

ASSERTION - OLDER THAN YOU?!

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - NO WAY.

COMPOSURE - What’s so surprising about that ?

THEATRICS - But- He looks so young! Look at that baby face! And the kicked puppy eyes!

SHADOWSELF - Some people age more gracefully than you.

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - His skin looks super soft. I wanna take a bite.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - Woah there friend, you're both married, remember?

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - Just because there’s another fisherman doesn't mean you can’t throw some lines in the canal.

RHETORIC - Nicely worded!

COMPOSURE - But still no.

“How long have you been married?” Tristan suddenly asks.

RHETORIC - He could easily guess by himself, but he wants to steer the conversation away from his personal issues.

“Nearly three years now,” Taiven replies with a smile.

Crazy how time flies.

BLOODSTAINED DOOR - Felt like it was just yesterday you got that ring on your finger and your name back.

“You seem happy,” Tristan notes.

BLEEDING HEART - He’s not jealous. Perhaps a little bitter, but mostly relieved that your marriage is happier than his own.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - He's starting to look a little down, maybe change the subject? You’ll definitely come back to this later.

RHETORIC - Yeah. You won’t get anything else out of him today.

Taiven puts her cigarette down on the sole of her shoe and smiles warmly at the man.

“Are you any good with machines?”

Tristan raises a curious eyebrow.

“Reasonably. Why?”

“Good. There's a weekly newsletter that needs writing and I’m not really good with typewriters. Could be a good way to teach you a little about fieldwork, too, don’t you think?”

THEATRICS - You're actually okay with typewriters, but one must be committed to the bit.

A small light is gleaming in the man’s eyes.

“Really? You'd do that?”

“Yeah! Why wouldn't I? Always a pleasure to help out a rookie.”

SHADOWSELF - Anyone else would think of this as exploitation, but that guy desperately needs something to do that isn’t sitting at home. And you do want to teach him a thing or two.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - Hey, hey, once we’re done here, you should talk to Ian about this! You need his opinion.

ASSERTION - Why? You’re perfectly capable of solving this case on your own.

COMPOSURE - He always has good insight, better to consult him first.

THE HUNT - Just to make sure you don’t fry too big a fish.

THICKSKIN - You’re being a baby. Why are you so worried? Do you think you’re going to stupidly throw yourself into danger?

NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS - Hell yeah, finally some ACTION!

COMPOSURE - With that one? Better safe than sorry.

SUN-POWERED-POWERPLANT - Come on, I'm sure it'll go just fine! As long as you make sure it does!

After a year at her service, Anwar knows that if she hears a big loud crash followed by screams and reprimands in the Lameni residence, it’s Isra-Husna’s doing.

When she hears a scream then the sound of falling followed by silence, it’s also Isra-Husna's doing. Except she needs to rush here because silence isn’t a good sign with these kinds of stunts. So she rushes to the origin of the noise, cursing herself for taking her eyes off her young mistress.

“My lady, are you okay?”

Isra-Husna is face down on the pebbled path covering the ground. Upon hearing Anwar's voice, she slowly raised her head with a puzzled expression. No bruises, no nosebleed, she seems alright on that front. But then she slowly sits up and grimaces as Anwar kneels at her side.

“That sounded like a nasty fall. Are you hurt anywhere?”

Silence still. It's worrying. Isra-Husna looks at Anwar, then at her palms. All bloodied and scraped. From trying to catch herself, probably.

The pain finally seems to get to her brain, and Anwar sees her bottom lip quiver.

“M-My hands,” she squeaks weakly.

Anwar takes her wrists to maintain her hands open.

“Let me see.”

The wounds aren't pretty, riddled with the mud and tiny rocks that found themselves between the pebbles over the years. Blood is slowly oozing out, staining the unharmed skin. A nasty fall indeed.

“Does it hurt?”

“Y-Yes… I-It burns…”

“It's okay. It’s not serious. We’ll get you patched up in no time.”

“B-But…”

Isra-Husna's hands start to tremble.

“M-Mother… She will be mad if it leaves marks…”

Anwar sees a little shine in her eyes. The sign of tears to come.

Crap. This isn’t good.

“My lady… My lady, look at me, it's okay. We'll make it better, I promise.”

The words don’t reach the little lady. Her shoulders shake, a little sob escapes her throat, tears fill her eyes almost to the brim.

Anwar’s face remains calm, but her heart and mind are both racing. It’s not about getting in trouble anymore. It’s about something in this scrunched up little face that tugs painfully at her heart.

She slowly covers the wounds with her palms. Her hands might get bloody but she doesn’t care.

“Look, my lady, no more blood.”

“B-But it hurts…”

“Then I'll make it go away. I promise I will, okay? Pain, pain, go away…”

Anwar starts chanting in a hushed tone, trying to be comforting, to not give her worry away. Everything so her lady can stop crying. So she can go back to being her bright, smiling face again. Anything.

Her own hands feel really warm all of a sudden. Maybe it’s the blood? No, it doesn’t feel liquid at all. Isra-Husna blinks, interrupting herself mid-sob, then looks at her lady-in-waiting’s hands over hers.

“Woah... Anwar, it’s shining!”

“... What?”

Anwar lowers her gaze, just in time to see a little light fading between their palms. She jolts away in surprise, only to find an even bigger one underneath.

There's no more blood. No more wounds. Just the little rocks and mud falling off a perfectly healthy skin. Isra-Husna blinks away tears, her face instead filling with absolute marvel.

“It worked!”

She turns her palms, inspects them, rubs them together, shows Anwar excitedly.

“Look, Anwar, it worked! It doesn’t even hurt anymore!”

Anwar doesn't know how to react. Opens her mouth, closes it, looks at her hands. They still feel warm. Something just happened, something she had no control over, but… Whatever it was, it made her lady smile so bright the moon herself would be jealous.

“Well, look at that. I scared off the pain.”

“You did! You did, you're the best!” Isra-Husna giggles before throwing herself in Anwar's arms.

Her lady-in-waiting lifts her off the ground despite her skinny arms, and tries to look stern.

“Nevertheless, my lady, you promised to behave today and you didn't. We're gonna have to move this playing session to your room.”

Isra-Husna pouts.

“Awww… But can't you just make the pain go away if I fall again?”

Anwar doesn’t say that she doesn’t know how to reproduce whatever it is she did, shakes her head instead.

“I won't always be around to help you when you injure yourself, you know. You have to be more careful, lady Isra-Husna.”

“But you will always be around! You will, right? You… You promised.”

A little smile. Hands holding a little body tighter.

“I promise. And if I'm not around, then know that I'll always come back. Always. Now, moving up.”

She ignores Isra-Husna's protestations and the fake punches she gives her, walking and trying to not focus on her inner disturbance. About what that light meant.

She does not notice the two guards staring from the other side of the garden, neither does she hear their hushed whispers,

We have to report this to the Matriarch.

***

Against the cold floor, mouth flooded in his own blood, a gushing stab wound at his side, Umar Al-Yasiri squirms. His hands and feet are bound, his face bruised, he's losing blood, yet he refuses to speak.

Towering above him, yet so small, a girl about thirteen stares down with an unreadable, abyssal gaze, clutching a bloody knife. Behind her stands a much taller man with indifferent red eyes.

“Anwar. Heal him.”

The girl blinks, looks up at her mentor. For a brief second, Umar sees the child behind the killer.

“Heal him?”

“Like I taught you. Remember?”

“But, my lord, he hasn't spilled anything yet.”

Anything but blood.

“Are you disputing my orders?”

She flinches, then stands up straight.

“No, my lord.”

She walks up to Umar. Crouches down next to him. He winces when she puts her small hand on his open wound, but then… Then a warmth spreads throughout his side as light emerges from the girl’s palm. He feels, with greater pain than he’d like to admit, the tissues of his body starting to mend, bit by bit, until they’re fully repaired. The girl slowly pulls back her hand, and makes a gesture to get back up, but a cutting voice interrupts her.

“Good. Now stab him again.”

She stops dead in her tracks. Looks down at Umar, then at her mentor again. Umar himself blinks before understanding dawns on him with all the horror of itself.

“But I just healed-”

“I said again.”

As if motivated by a survival instinct, the girl turns around and plunges her blade into Umar’s ribs. The pain splits his body open, he screams, not loud enough for the man to say,

“Good. Be careful to not kill him yet. Now, heal him again.”

Again, the light, again, that warmth, the temporary relief.

“Now. Still won't talk?”

Umar grits his teeth. He did nothing wrong. Whoever plotted against the Lameni heiress, it wasn't him, even if he thinks the whole vampire world would be better off without her and her godsforsaken family.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“That's a shame. Anwar, again.”

This time it’s the thigh. The pain is excruciating, and they let him scream and thrash for a good minute before healing him. Umar's breath is shallow, his forehead is getting sweaty. Whatever spell this is, it doesn't make up for blood loss.

Still, he keeps his mouth shut. So they keep going.

Stab, heal, stab, heal, stab, heal.

He can’t tell how long it’s been. Just that he’s memorized every detail of that girl’s face by now as the pain turns his entire body into a raw nerve. Black eyes, two voids where nothing can grow. Thin black hair, a bird’s nest. A red tattoo on the cheek, of a few words, rune-like, an old dialect, something he recognizes.

Ah, he understands now.

The Lameni don’t breed Light mages, do they?

Some Jiantze whore just had to go and tarnish the Lameni blood, some Lameni fucker just couldn't keep it in his fucking pants and had to betray his own lineage, his own legacy, to produce that little brat. This is what that tattoo means, that she’s not one of theirs, these old words the Lameni tattoo somewhere on every impure-blooded spawn, this one has it on her face, so everyone knows, so everyone can read those words,

light-stained blood,

the mark of shame, the mark of her parents’ sin.

A gargling laugh escapes from Umar’s blood-filled mouth, his mind delirious with pain as the wounds are mended again.

“You know what? Maybe I should have done this. Maybe I should have killed her when I could. Her, and everyone here, if they were gonna be so careless as to taint our name like this-”

“So you admit to plotting against the family?” the older man’s voice cuts him off.

Umar hisses, making the blood between his teeth pop into bubbles.

“No. But I will end you. I fucking will, mark my words.”

“That’s good enough of an admission. Anwar.”

He makes a vague, almost bored gesture.

“End it.”

The girl takes up her knife for what Umar knows is the last time today. Stares at him with those two pits of darkness, her forehead sweaty and hands trembling from so much magic use.

Umar feels no pity for her.

Her kind shouldn't exist.

She raises her blade, slowly, eyes moving as she searches where to aim.

Umar laughs one last time, tears streaming down his face.

“Curse you filthy half-bloods. Curse all of you.”

The girl’s eyelid barely twitches as she buries the blade all the way through his throat, her mouth barely emits a groan of effort when she pulls it out.

Against the cold floor, mouth flooded in his own blood, a gushing stab wound in his throat, Umar Al-Yasiri smiles.

And curses them all for having a half blood as the last face he sees before he dies.

***

Heavy clouds have been hanging low all day, announcing a thunderstorm. Anwar couldn't have known. She spent the whole day inside with Lord Nabil-Malik, in that windowless room. She tumbles out of it with a full stomach and a hollow gaze.

She could wash off the blood but couldn’t wash out the man's last words.

Curse all of you.

A loud crack tears up the night and she jumps as a lightning falls in the horizon. Rain thumps against the ground and rooftop, and she stands motionless under the marble arch surrounding the garden, as if the distant rumbling of thunder was something coming to get her. She doesn't know how long she stands there before a breathless handmaid runs up to her.

“Miss Anwar, there you are! I've been looking everywhere for you!”

Anwar turns to look at her. Seems she was in a real hurry.

“What do you need me for?”

Her voice sounds distant, monochord, like it isn’t really there.

“Well… Lady Isra-Husna refuses to go to sleep unless you’re the one putting her to bed. I believe she's afraid of the storm.”

Isra-Husna.

The name feels like a slap in the face.

Her lady needs her.

She doesn't even wait for the handmaid to lead the way. Instead, she starts running through the empty hallways, straight to her lady's room, where she finds a number of helpless handmaids gathered in front of the door.

“Let me through!”

Anwar didn’t think she could speak that loud. Neither did the maids, apparently, because they startle and immediately make way for her. She almost busts the door open, gets past the pearl curtains blocking her view, and emerges right as lightning strikes again. She flinches, gathers herself. She can’t be scared, not now.

Not when she just heard a little cry coming from a curled-up little girl at the foot of the bed.

She nearly throws herself to the floor next to her mistress. Isra-Husna is covering her ears with both her hands, trembling, face buried into her knees. Anwar reaches out, touches her shoulder.

“My lady. It’s me. I’m here.”

Isra-Husna’s head snaps back up, her head swivels to her lady-in-waiting. There's a brief moment of silence before she bursts into tears and throws herself against Anwar, holding tight onto her clothes, and Anwar wraps her arms around her without a second thought.

“Shhhh… Shh. You're safe. It’s okay. You were very brave, but I'm here now.”

Her lady’s sobs slowly start to subside, her tears to dry, but as soon as the rumbling outside starts again, she yelps and buries herself against Anwar's chest.

“...Do you want me to carry you to bed?”

She nods, so Anwar lifts her off the ground again, tucks her in, and closes the bed curtains before sitting next to her mistress.

“There. That way you won't see lightning anymore. And I'll stay until you fall asleep.”

Isra-Husna holds out both her arms, as if to invite her in.

“... Can you stay until I wake up, too?”

Anwar hesitates for a moment.

“My lady… It wouldn't be appropriate, I'm…”

Filthy.

Filthy half-blood.

“But I want you to stay,” Isra-Husna whines. “Please, Anwar?”

The thoughts are wiped away in an instant. It doesn't matter. Her lady wants her around. So Anwar sighs, and kicks off her shoes before sliding under the covers. Isra-Husna immediately takes refuge in her arms with a content smile. Anwar can’t help but smile too.

“Comfortable?”

“Hmhm. Thank you, Anwar.”

“You’re welcome, my lady. I promised you I'd be there, didn't I?”

A giggle.

“You did! And you're all warm. Hehe.”

It’s true. Anwar can feel the warmth slowly come back to her cheeks, her stomach, her fingertips. All the warmth she lost on that man, slowly coming back.

Maybe she can make light with her magic, but the real light is the little lady slowly falling asleep in her arms.

“‘Night, Anwar…”

She can take anything if it means keeping that light shining.

“Good night, my lady,” she whispers, holding her closer.